


Soldier's Heart

by Lemon (lemon_sprinkles)



Series: Soldier's Heart [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Combat PTSD, Depression, Destroy Ending, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Renegon (Mass Effect), Ruthless (Mass Effect), Sheploo - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, mShenko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 72,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_sprinkles/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the battle is over and the war is won, the soldier puts down his gun and returns to the life he had before; a life of peace and remembrance. But what happens to those who can't let go? Whose peace never comes and whose remembrance brings only pain and suffering?</p><p> Shepard struggles to regain his sense of personhood after years of constant warfare, his life irreparably damaged by what he saw and did. But all is not lost-- not when he has the strength to ask for help.</p><p> <b>Now featuring artwork from the amazing <a href="knightofbunnies.tumblr.com">knightofbunnies!</a>(Chapter 7)</b><br/><b>Even more artwork from <a href="knightofbunnies.tumblr.com">knightofbunnies!</a>(Chapter 10)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please Read!: So you've probably noticed that this is written from the POV of an OC. I, myself, am not really a fan of OC's and I know a lot of you aren't, either. However, the only way I could properly tell this story was to write from the POV of a character who has no prior relationship with Shepard in any way. This is important to how the story develops and how Shepard is seen by us, the readers. 
> 
> The OC is, in a sense, you-- the reader. We take the place of Kentworth. I gave her a bit of personality and some defining characteristics, but she's not the main character in any way. She's not even secondary. She's simply the vessel by which we see Shepard and his relationships with those in his life. So I hope you enjoy, despite the use of an OC. This is Shepard (and by extension, Kaidan's) story. Do not worry!
> 
> Also, major shoutout to Teadrunktailor for being my beta, and Knightofbunnies for reading along as I wrote the chapters.

_“I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another.”_ \- All Quiet on the Western Front

xx

Elizabeth Mary Kentworth had been with the Alliance for a long time. A _very_ long time. Some would have suggested she was with the Alliance before humans had even discovered space travel, but to ever verbalize the thought would have earned them a sharp glare from their CO and a small, subtle smirk from a somewhat amused Kentworth herself. Others said she’d never really aged—she’d just shown up looking old and thin, liver spots on her knobby hands and wrinkles around her bright green eyes and thin, pink stained lips. It was completely inconceivable to many of the younger soldiers that she had once, very long ago, looked just like them.

 The truth was really quite ordinary. She’d attended university for psychiatry at a normal age, graduated at a normal age, and specialized in a field that was, at the time, quite normal. Human expansion and squabbles of territory and resources produced no small amount of psychologically troubled men and women who needed assistance healing that piece of their life that had been irrevocably changed, and Kentworth was among seven others who were hired by the Alliance to help with some of their tougher cases.

 The soldiers Kentworth dealt with weren’t your standard sort. They were the violent ones—the ones who had been known, on occasion, to act aggressive through no volition of their own. More comfortable with a pistol in their grasp than anything else, they sat in every session highly alert and mistrusting, their glassy eyes staring hauntingly back at you, demanding an explanation as to why they were just ‘ _so fucking fucked in the head’_.

 It had been a tough first year. One of her colleagues had quit in the first month. Her patient threw a chair out a window. A second left after six months, unable to cope with the stress of listening to men and women graphically depict their living nightmares, day in and day out.

 But the rest stayed—for a time. Eventually retirement or death pulled them away from the clinic. New bright eyed graduates joined the ranks and more drifted away. Kentworth stayed, however, even when given the chance to scoop up her hefty pension. She’d contemplated it for a little while, mostly on days when her back was becoming a nuisance and her husband pestered her about it.

 But then the Reapers attacked.

 It was like the First Contact War all over again—only this time worse. Soldiers were coming in droves needing assistance, and Kentworth couldn’t stand back and let them go without help.

_‘Just one more year, love,’_ she’d told her husband as she left for the rubble of Vancouver, _‘one more year and I’ll be done.’_

_XX_

_Two years later…_

A soft rap at the door was all the warning Kentworth was given before the door to her office swung open and a young, barely legal looking recruit strode through the door with a datapad in hand. Stopping in front of her desk the boy swung his hand up and saluted her stiffly, eyes staring ahead and back ramrod straight.

 “Ma’am, a report for you, ma’am.”

 Rolling her eyes, Kentworth tried her best not to laugh at the poor lad and instead waved her hand about. “No need to be so formal,” she said, reaching for the datapad.

 The boy relaxed a fraction and handed the datapad to her, back going straight again and heels slamming together as he saluted her.

  _You really cannot fault them for their enthusiasm…_

 “You’re dismissed,” she said, smiling distractedly as she flipped open the document and began to go through it.

 A new patient it seemed. Nothing unusual about him, really. Born in the year 2154 on earth, joined the Alliance when he was eighteen; saw action on Torfan, participated in the Battle of the Citadel, and survived the Reaper War; a year spent in hospitals followed by an honourable discharge due to ‘physical limitations’; displays acts of aggression, hypervigilance, depression, mood-swings, night terrors, and violent outbursts.

 All common in her line of work.

 She scrolled down further and stopped dead in her tracks when an Alliance issued photograph came up.

 “Wait,” she called. Tearing her gaze away from the haunted blue eyes, she watched as the soldier stop just in front of the door and swung around.

 “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

 “Who told you to give this to me?”

 The boy blushed, obviously having forgotten that necessary detail. “Admiral Hackett, ma’am. Told me to give it directly to you and to no one else, ma’am.”

 “Thank you,” she said. Waving her hand she allowed him to go, catching yet another salute out of the corner of her eye.

 Placing the datapad down on her desk, she stared out the window, peering through the scaffolding of nearby construction sites and toward the Pacific Ocean. Tapping her bottom lip she sighed and closed her eyes.

 This was going to be anything but easy.

XX

 “You want to explain this to me?”

 “I needed someone I could trust, Elizabeth. This isn’t a normal case by any stretch of the imagination.”

 “You’re going to have to stop saying that, Steven. It _is_ a normal case to me—it’s you and everyone else who is trying to make it into something more.”

 Hackett sighed heavily over the comm-link. “You might have that luxury but I don’t. This has to be handled with discretion.”

 Kentworth frowned and leaned against her desk. “Only because he’s a potential patient and his rights to privacy must be respected. I don’t care if he’s the king of the galaxy—he’s just a soldier to me. A soldier who needed help _years_ ago.”

 Hackett nodded. “I know. We should have… we should have seen it sooner.”

 “Well on that we can agree,” she said. Sitting back in her chair, she steepled her fingers together, old joints creaking from the pressure. “When was the original evaluation done?”

“Just before he was discharged from the hospital a year ago.”

 Kentworth pursed her lips and sent Hackett a hard stare through the comm-link, hoping her anger would translate well through the fuzzy image. “He’s been diagnosed with extreme combat PTSD for a year and no one did anything?”

“I didn’t know the details,” Hackett replied, sounding very weary and very tired. “If I had, you know I would have brought this to you immediately.”

 She believed him. His tone was raw and bare, military formalities stripped away. He sounded much like a father, ashamed he’d let his child go. And in many ways, he was the closest thing the lad had to a father now.

 “Well… I suppose you were under a lot of stress yourself,” she replied. Sighing, she brushed a white strand of hair behind her ear and tried to clear her mind. Berating Hackett was getting them nowhere. Straightening her back as best she could, she locked eyes with Hackett and began again. 

“How and when did you finally connect the dots?”

 “A few days ago. There was a report that came in to us about an ex-Alliance officer who assaulted a reporter. The reporter apparently had a red light on his camera and flashed it in front of his face. It took Major Alenko and two other civilians to subdue him.”

 “Jesus Christ, Steven!”

 Hackett looked just as angry at himself as she felt. “You can reprimand me later, Elizabeth. Right now I need to know you’re going to help him. He needs the best—he deserves the best. Only you can help him.”

 There were others who could—Kentworth never deluded herself into thinking she was special or the best of the best. Asari were particularly good at healing wounds to the mind. But humans seemed to prefer humans—the slower but more familiar approach.

 “Has he agreed to this?” she asked eventually.

 “Not yet.”

 “I can’t help someone who won’t even admit they need it,” she said. This was getting ridiculous.

 “We’re working on getting his consent. The man is stubborn if nothing else, but he _will_ agree. What I need to know from you is if you’re willing to take him on.”

 “Of course I’m willing. I wouldn’t turn away someone who needs help. I didn’t come back to Vancouver to be choosy.”

 “Thank you, Elizabeth. I’ll inform you of any updates.”

 “You’d better…” she said, eyeing Hackett. Sighing again, she sat up. “Take care of yourself, Steven. I don’t want to see you in my office, too.”

 Hackett smiled then, the curve of his lips familiar and heartening. They’d known each other longer than most Alliance officials, both having given their lives and then some to the cause. “I’ll try my best. I’ll keep you updated.”

 And then he was gone, leaving Kentworth to comb through the file of her new patient.

XX

 It was almost two weeks before Kentworth heard anything further on the case. Truth be told she’d almost gotten to the point where she thought it would never happen. Sometimes—actually, most of the time—soldiers were too damn stubborn and proud to admit they needed help. For centuries the reaction to soldiers with PTSD had been to tell them to just get over it—that whatever they were feeling had to be bottled up and shoved away. While it was more understood and accepted as another unfortunate repercussion of war, the old stiff-upper-lip mentality of the military world hadn’t changed much since… well, since war existed.

 But not all soldiers fell into that trap. For some it was easy to admit they were troubled and needed help; others took a little longer, needing a gentle push in the right direction. And then others still had to undergo a truly terrifying loss of control to realize they hadn’t been _in_ control for a very long time.

 Most of her patients fell in the latter. Her new one was no different.

 It was on the eleventh day after she’d spoken to Hackett when her secretary told her she had a new patient coming in on the Friday. It was an afternoon session, near the end of her work day. Only half an hour—long enough for both of them to know if they were going to communicate and work well with one another. The key to success was often finding the right therapist. If the patient was uncomfortable and didn’t trust you, you were dead in the water.

 On the day Kentworth went through his file one more time before shutting it and locking it. She’d read it, studied it, and then disregarded everything she’d read almost immediately. She didn’t want any preconceived notions to make it into her evaluation. She wanted to see the man herself—speak to him, let him explain his side of things and observe him as he did so.

 She wanted to know the man first—not the patient and certainly not the legend. Just the man.

 “I’m excited to see him,” her secretary said eagerly.

 Kentworth quirked a brow and pursed her lips. Lowering her datapad she eyed the young woman. “Now now, Helen, don’t treat him any differently from our other patients. He’s just like any other man when he’s in here and will be afforded the same respect—no more, no less.”

 Helen sighed and took the datapad, stacking it on top of the others that seemed to take up permanent residence on her desk. “I know, I know. It’s just, have you seen the vids of him?”

 “Yes.”

 “And? Isn’t he handsome?”

 “Honestly, Helen…”

 “What? A girl can look, can’t she?”

 “She can—so long as she does so _professionally_. Now do as I say and respect the man.”

 Helen pouted. “You’re no fun.”

 “I am a slave driver, I know. Terribly unfair of me but that is what you get when you work for me.” She winked and headed back into her office, a newly brewed cup of coffee in her grasp. “Send him in immediately when he arrives,” she said over her shoulder.

 She’d only had time to take one probing sip to see if her coffee was cool enough to drink when Helen’s voice chimed in through the intercom, telling her that her new patient had arrived and she was sending him in as soon as he’d signed a few papers (emphasis on papers and not magazine covers or any other paraphernalia they’d plastered the poor man’s face on to.)

 They signatures didn’t take long. Placing her coffee down on an old napkin she used in place of a coaster, she eased herself slowly up from her desk and walked around it, just in time for the man of the hour to come through the double doors of her office.

 He certainly cut quite the image. Tall and broad, he stood in the doorway like he was ready to inspect his crew, an air of authority sitting on him like a well-tailored jacket he’d worn for years. His hair was still cut military short, following regulations he was no longer subject to, and the way he pulled his shoulders back and kept his back straight gave away just how long he’d been in service for, the pose more natural to him than the relaxed slouch of a civilian.

 It was his bright blue eyes, however, that caught Kentworth’s attention. They scanned the room quickly, surveying all entrances and exits, windows and doors, before falling on her, the elderly woman near the desk with a pen sticking out of her messy bun and a tissue stuffed up her sleeve. The look he sent her wasn’t kind but also wasn’t hostile. He just gave her a quick once-over, taking her in just as she’d done to him. It wasn’t until he seemed satisfied he wasn’t walking into some trap that he moved further into the room and—

 The illusion was gone. The strong, military stride she’d expected to see was instead a slow, measured walk assisted by a cane. He leaned heavily to one side, grip firm on the handle, and she noticed the limp he was trying to cover-up immediately.

 “Dr. Kentworth,” he said. He looked like he was about to salute but changed his mind at the last second, instead extending his free hand for a firm handshake. His voice was softer in person—the gruff, commanding voice she’d heard in the vids through the years worn away to something more personal and natural.

 “You must be John Shepard,” she replied, smiling and returning the shake. It was steady and confident. “Please, take a seat wherever you’re most comfortable.”

 She had three possible seating areas for sessions. Her desk, which was never her most popular choice and one she disliked as well. She hated how professional it seemed. The desk made it feel like she was their boss and therefore on a higher level than they were.

 Her second spot was in the centre of the room, a coffee table and two chairs by the large open windows. Casual and intimate, it offered a nice view and as much sunlight as the Vancouver skies would offer on any given day.

 The third was where Shepard immediately went for. It was off in the corner near a set of bookshelves where old paper books were bound and placed in alphabetical order next to antique skulls of alien creatures and earth animals. There was a couch that sat against the wall and gave a perfect view of the room and, most importantly, the door. Her chair sat in front of the couch with her back to the door. It was of no trouble to her but she’d seen how her patients reacted to being put in her position—how much stress it caused them to have their backs exposed.

 She watched as Shepard took a seat on the couch, back to the wall and gaze straight ahead, first on the door then on her as she pulled out her datapad and made a small note at the top of the document.

  _Hypervigilant_. _Scanned room for all possible exits. Took seat in corner against wall—can see everything around him._

 Sitting down across from him, she folded one leg over the other and rested her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee.

 “So, John—may I call you John?”

 He nodded. That was all. Just a terse nod before looking away and out the window, seemingly relaxed were it not for the glances he kept shooting toward the door, and how he held on to his cane like he’d be more comfortable using it as a weapon than a walking aid.

 Sitting back slowly, she watched as Shepard did everything in his power to give away very little.

 She was beginning to suspect he hadn’t really come of his own volition. Someone had pressured him into attending and he was not happy about it. Hackett said he’d get him there, but he didn’t say anything about getting him to _like_ the idea. It reminded her much of a small child who had been forced to wear his Sunday best to attend church, and was going to do everything in his power to make his annoyances known.

 That did not bode well. She’d have to find the right angle to get him to open up and agree to stay.

 “I’ll let you get settled,” she said, rising to get her coffee she’d left on her desk. She wasn’t about to let it go cold for the sake of watching Shepard brood in a corner. The short walk would also give her time to figure out how to get him to open up—just a little bit. She needed to show Shepard he could trust her. That she wasn’t going to judge or coddle, nor make him feel like it was a weakness to come and seek help.

 That was one of the challenging things about working with soldiers; they were protective of their strength and feared weakness and loss of control more than anything.

  _Tough shit; you need to admit your weaknesses before you can build yourself back up._

Returning with her coffee she sat back down. Taking a sip, she opened up her file and began preliminary notes, letting Shepard get settled, and ignoring the look he’d sent her bad knee. That was something they seemed to have in common at least.

 After about ten minutes of silence and careful deliberation, Kentworth placed her coffee down on the table between them and folded her hands onto her lap. Sitting forward, she caught Shepard’s eyes and kept them on her.

 She was going to be direct with him. That was all there was to it.

 “Listen, John. I know you don’t want to be here and frankly, I wish you didn’t have to be here either. But the truth of the matter is this: you need help and you know it more than anyone else. But you’re not going to get that help and continue your path to recovery if you keep denying your struggles. So what I propose is this: stay for the short session today. You don’t have to say anything or do anything. Just sit with me and enjoy a cup of coffee. But in two days when you come back—because I know you will—I want you to talk. It doesn’t have to be anything important, but I want you to talk to me and share a bit of yourself with me.”

 Sitting back in her chair, she raised her brow questioningly. “Do we have a deal? A day of silence and coffee in exchange for a conversation next week?”

_I better not have just shot myself in the foot. If the man doesn’t like a bargain…_

It took a tense few seconds but eventually Shepard nodded. “Deal,” he said quietly.

 Kentworth beamed. “Excellent.” Turning on her omni-tool she paged Helen. “Helen, be a dear and bring in another coffee for Mr. Shepard. Oh, and a few of those biscuits—the ones with the chocolate on top.”

 “Right away, ma’am.”

 “I can’t promise you this is going to work,” Kentworth continued once the coffee request had been made. “I also can’t say that I am going to fix you. I _can’t_ fix you. I can help you to heal, however. It’s going to be tough and exhausting and you’ll probably strongly dislike me for the first little while. I’m not going to coddle you. You’re going to hear the truth from me—no little white lies to protect your feelings. But I am also going to respect you, John. And I will listen to you and I will help you. I will do everything in my power to drag you up from that fast current holding you down so you can breathe again. It won’t be easy and it won’t be fast, but it will be worth it. You’ll just have to trust me.”

 Shepard just stared across at her, heavy brows drawn together, full lips pulled tight in a frown that seemed a permanent fixture on his already severe features. But there was something new in his gaze; a spark that she’d not seen before.

Helen showed up moments later with the coffee. Placing the tray on the table she smiled at the two before hurrying out, acting professional despite her earlier babblings.

 Pouring Shepard a cup, she smiled up at him. “Now, back to important business—cream and sugar?”

 He smiled then. Small, but it was there.

 Only fifteen minutes into their first session and already an improvement. Kentworth was hopeful. Now if only she could make Shepard hopeful too. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the hits/kudos/comments for the first chapter! Your support means a lot. This chapter sets the tone for how the rest of the story will work out. It'll start with a flashback taking place at a specific point in Shepard's life, then come forward to the current day and the therapy session. 
> 
> I used Finch as the generic Reds member we all know and love, despite the fact that Shepard has a total 'new phone who dis' moment in the actual game. 
> 
> Shoutout to teadrunktailor for the awesome beta work!

“We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial—I believe we are lost.” - All Quiet on the Western Front

XX

 He had a hole in his shoe.

 It was just at the heel—a rip of cheap fabric from plastic, big enough that he could shove his finger inside but still small enough he wasn’t about to throw them away. Not like he could afford another pair if he did throw them away, but _still_. It was a wonder he’d been able to get a new pair in the first place. He supposed his size, age, and big baby blues made the clerk at the store take pity on him…

 He still wished he could have given something back. Like maybe brought her a flower or a card or some shit. Something pretty or whatever—girls liked pretty things, right? He could at least have done something better than ran off with a pair of shoes clutched close to his chest without a glance back. Maybe she still worked there and he could—

“What the hell are you doing?”

 Shepard looked up from his shoes with a start. “None of your damn business,” he said to Finch. Shoving his heels back against the curb, he wrapped his arms around his knees and stared ahead at the multi-coloured stalls hawking various bootleg goods.

 “Whatever...” Finch mimicked Shepard’s pose and shoved closer to him, face inches away, close enough Shepard could smell the stolen flapjack he’d had for breakfast. “You think you can do this?”

 “I _know_ I can do this,” he said, leaning away from Finch. The place was loud enough that Finch could have yelled their plan out and no one would take notice. “I go in, find a target, swipe the card from his back pocket, and then head toward the meeting spot next to the funny lookin’ statue with the missing arm.”

 Finch nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah. And then we get in.”

 “ _I_ get in. You didn’t do anything.”

 “Aw c’mon, Shep. You know I can’t steal like you. My hands are too big. I ain’t small like you.”

 Shepard glowered. “I’m not _small_. Besides, the Reds said they need kids to steal for them. If you can’t do that then what good are you?”

Finch looked positively terrified then—eyes wide and mouth hung open. It was kinda funny looking. “But you said you’d split it with me! We’d both get in if we split the chits and handed them in separately.”

 Shepard waved him off and stood up, ignoring Finch’s pleas as he saw the perfect target. Ducking between people, Shepard acted as casual as he could when in reality his heart as beating out of his chest. He’d done this before—slipped his hand inside a person’s pocket to take a few chits he didn’t see much use in them keeping— but this time it felt different. If he could do this right everything would change. He’d be a part of something—a part of a gang. The Reds could help feed him and clothe him, and give him and a bunch of other kids a place to sleep for the night. The Reds could give him a place to belong to.

 He just had to do this right.

 Wiping his hands on his jeans, Shepard ducked his head down slightly and casually strolled past the target. He was a tall guy wearing a form fitting suit that looked tailored, and had on an expensive watch that glittered under the grimy lights as he reached to pick up something.

 Perfect.

 Hanging back a bit, Shepard waited until the man began speaking to the stall owner before swooping in. He noticed the outline of his wallet in his back pocket and slipped his fingers in, pinching the top corner and gently pulling it out.

 He didn’t wait to see if anyone noticed. Immediately he took off, using his slighter size (not _smaller_ , thank you very much) to get through the market quickly. As soon as he’d broken free from the crowd Shepard couldn’t help the big grin that spread across his face as he shoved the wallet into the front of his pants, tucking his shirt up overtop to hide it.

 Practically skipping toward the statue, Shepard caught sight of Finch standing awkwardly a few feet away, grubby and skinny and hungry looking just like he was. He didn’t have to stop—he didn’t have to help Finch out. He could go right to that statue and meet up with the Reds and he’d be in. He’d be safe. He didn’t _owe_ Finch anything.

But he did stop. Sighing, he hurried over to Finch and pulled out the wallet. Grabbing some chits out and keeping the credit cards for himself, Shepard shoved the money into Finch’s hands.

 “Don’t say I never did nothing for you,” he said.

XX

 “I don’t see many people add cream to their tea.”

 Kentworth watched as Shepard prepared his tea with steady hands. It was a strong black brew that they’d let sit in the pot for probably far too long. She’d added a bit of milk and lemon to hers, but Shepard poured in the cream usually reserved for coffee and stirred it around slowly, mindful not to let the edges of the spoon hit the ceramic mug.

 He glanced up at her and shrugged. “Guess it’s a Canadian thing,” he said.

 He sat back with his tea and blew on the top carefully. Kentworth watched him as he did so. He arrived much more relaxed today, taking a seat on the couch and agreeing to whatever terms Kentworth had placed forward. He wasn’t friendly, per say, but he also wasn’t quite so standoffish. Something had obviously changed over the last few days.

 “Did you grow up in Canada?” she asked. Picking up her datapad she made a few notes about Shepard’s change in behaviour and his sudden cooperation. It could just be that he was having a good day—or at least a better day. Everyone had those, PTSD sufferer or not. Still, she’d make a note of it and see how he was their next session. A soldier’s emotions could change quickly and suddenly. Push the wrong button and…

 Well, Shepard had come to her after a violent incident. She didn’t know his triggers yet and it seemed he didn’t either.

 “No, but my partner did. He usually makes the morning tea and coffee,” Shepard said.

 “Well that’s kind of him. I wish my husband would make me tea in the morning.”

 Shepard took a long drink before placing it on the table. Sitting back he stretched his leg out under the table, hand subconsciously going to rub his knee. “I’m usually up before he is but he likes the routine,” he explained. “Besides, he makes it better than I do. I get impatient and take the bag out too early or leave it in for too long and forget about it.”

 As fascinating as tea culture around the world was, Kentworth was much more interested in Shepard’s childhood and tried to steer the conversation back toward where he grew up, hoping he’d follow along.

 “So if you’re not from Canada, where did you grow up?”

 “In a city on earth.”

 “Which city?”

 “Does it matter?”

 Kentworth raised a brow. “Well I don’t know. Do you think it matters?”

Shepard shook his head. “Not really. All that matters is that it was a big, busy, dirty shit-hole. Pretty much like any other major city.”

“I imagine you’ve seen some fairly large cities during your travels,” Kentworth replied.

 “A fair share, yeah. But even the nicest ones have their underbelly.”

  She nodded. “True enough. So tell me a bit about living in the ‘underbelly’ of your city.”

 Shepard sat forward and grabbed his tea. Wrapping his hands around the mug he stared across the table at Kentworth, pegging her with a hard stare. 

 Honestly, as if that would intimidate me after all these years…

 “I don’t know what you’re hoping to find by having me dredge up my past, but I can tell you it has nothing to do with what I’m going through today. I’d come to terms with my childhood long ago so I don’t see the point in talking about it.”

 Kentworth sighed and folded her hands on top of her lap. “I could psychoanalyze everything you just said to me and tell you that clearly you haven’t come to terms with your past if you’re so defensive about it, but I won’t. Instead I’ll just tell you why I want to know: I need a clearer picture of you. If I’m going to help you I can’t just jump into the story halfway and hope to know what’s going on. So be a dear to an old woman and tell me a little bit about your past.”

 They had a bit of a staring contest after that, Shepard obviously mulling over what she was saying, before he sighed audibly and sat back with his tea. “Alright.”

 Kentworth smiled. “Excellent.” Turning on the voice recorder on her omni-tool, she crossed her legs and perched her datapad on her thigh.  “As I understand it you were part of a street gang?”

 “Yeah; the Tenth Street Reds. It was a small gang but that just made it easier to get in.”

 “How did you get in?”

 “Pickpocketing. They were looking for kids to steal for them and I fit the bill I guess.” Shepard took a sip of his tea, seemingly relaxing the more he spoke. He was still sat straight up like a soldier but he wasn’t looking around the room quite as much, and instead seemed more focused on Kentworth rather than the windows behind her. “I’d been on my own for a while and kind of had a knack for it. I was small for a kid, believe it or not.”

 “Where were you before you joined the Tenth Street Reds?” she asked.

 “Foster care. I knew my parents—or, at least, I think I did. I don’t remember them but I’d been raised in their care for… two years, I think. Then my father died and my mum not too long after him.”

 “Do you know how they passed?”

 Shepard shook his head. “Never thought to ask. I was a kid and I was more focused on the fact that I didn’t have parents, and not the whys, you know?”

 “That must have been difficult to go through.”

 Shepard nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I suppose it was. I was too young to remember it really but… yeah. I don’t know if that makes me lucky or not.”

 “How do you mean?”

 “Well I mean, would you rather lose someone you can’t remember, and not have to deal with painful memories, but at the cost of… well, not remembering your parents? Or lose them and remember that loss, but also remember them?” he asked.

 Kentworth pondered the question for a moment. She’d lost her parents long ago, but that had been due to old age. She’d had years to form a close bond with them both and treasured the memories, despite the twinge they caused in her chest now and again.

 “I suppose I’d rather have known them and suffered the loss, than never having known them at all. Probably not the reassurance you were looking for,” she said ruefully.

 “No, but it is fair. I guess I kind of struggled with that line of thinking when I first got command of the Normandy.”

 “On whether or not it was safe to get attached?” she asked carefully.

 Shepard nodded. He seemed to suddenly realize he was still holding his mug and took another deep drink, as if to buy time to think. Clearing his throat he placed the cup back down on the table but stayed hunched over, elbows on his knees. “When you get command of a ship or a unit or whatever, you’re responsible for everyone under your command. I’d always learned that it was dangerous to fraternize and to get attached, and I did pretty well for a while. You know, keeping a distance. My actions on Torfan kind of proved that.” He paused, brows drawing close together. “Anyways, I kept a safe distance from a lot of them for a while. But then you see the same people for years, come to depend on them and…”

“It becomes more difficult,” Kentworth supplied, “always keeping a distance, watching those around you develop those bonds while you stand off to the side, peering in but never participating. Was that difficult for you, or did you enjoy staying removed from your crew?”

 Shepard shrugged. “If you’re asking if I was lonely, I wasn’t. I was used to being alone in the strictest sense. I’d only really developed military bonds. Rely on the guy next to you to get you out of a tough spot kind of thing. But friends? I never actively sought out friends within my units. I don’t know why but… but eventually I guess my priorities changed, you know?”

 Kentworth nodded. “You felt like it was more important to make those bonds and potentially lose them, then to never make them at all.”

 “Yeah… yeah, I think you’re right. I never thought about it that way. By the time my third year as Commander of the Normandy rolled around I just wanted that connection. I mean I had friends but I never talked to anyone about myself. Not even to Garrus—not for a really long time.”

 “Who is Garrus?”

 Shepard grinned. “You don’t know who Garrus is?” She shook her head. “He’s gonna be pissed someone doesn’t know who he is.”

 “Is he a bit of a glory monger?” she asked.

 “Nah, nothing like that. A braggart, but not a glory monger. He just likes to show off and figures everyone should remember his name over mine. It’s just for fun; I don’t think he actually believes it. Still, doesn’t stop him from fucking around with me about it.”

 “So you two got close then? You talk about him with great fondness,” she said.

 Shepard had brightened considerably the longer he talked about his friendships; using his hands more to speak and smiling more than frowning. It was good to see. A part of her had wondered if perhaps Shepard was all alone save for his partner. Veterans suffering from PTSD had a tendency to withdraw from the rest of society, and find a nice, quiet, alarmingly dangerous hole in which to bury themselves in. It didn’t help that the rest of society let it happen.

 But John had at least someone—this was a start. 

And, judging by his name, this Garrus fellow was a Turian. They had that military structure and society that Shepard might feel more comfortable in. Perhaps Garrus could help him realize this wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

“Talk about him with fondness? Don’t tell him that; the teasing would just get worse. But yeah, yeah I guess we did get close. I mean, not _close_ ,” he pushed his hands together and linked his fingers, “like I did with K, but yeah… he became a confidant later on. Just before the attack on the Collector base when I thought we were all going to die I had a talk with him. Just the two of us—man to man kind of thing. It was then that…”

 “Then that?” Kentworth prompted.

 Shepard sighed and sat back. “It was then that I guess I realized I was letting everything pass me by. I was going into a situation that I’d been brought back from death to do, and I figured that this might be it—for good. This wasn’t like Torfan or the attack on the Citadel or anything I’d done before; this was pretty much a suicide mission. And I realized that if I died again I had a _lot_ of fucking regrets. So I tried to say my peace, I guess. Get all my shit in order before we went.”

 “What kinds of regrets?” she asked carefully. He was opening up more than she’d expected but didn’t want him to clamp up again.

 “I dunno… putting my career before my personal life, not telling people how much they mattered to me, being a bit of a bastard at times when I had no call to be… not telling someone I loved them when I really should have. Kind of the regular shit, honestly. Who doesn’t have those kinds of regrets?”

 As he spoke his attention waned, gaze returning to the window, focused on something off in the distance. He was rubbing his knee gently, a tick that Kentworth was beginning to realize was an indication he’d let his guard down—just a little.

 “Anyway,” he continued, “I told myself I kept a distance because it was what I’d been taught in the Alliance, but maybe… maybe it was for other reasons…”

 Shepard looking down at the floor and stared at the carpet for a while. Kentworth just sat and kept silent, letting him work through his thoughts. Her patients tended to trail off like this. They’d dredge up an old memory or come to a conclusion they’d never reached before and just chew it over for a while. The trick was to pull them out of it if they got too far into the thought.

 But Shepard returned on his own, voice a bit soft as he continued.

 “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Point remains—I never knew my parents and I can’t change that.”

 Kentworth had almost forgotten that they’d been talking about his parents beforehand. He had opened up in an entirely different direction than she’d intended and she’d forgotten there had been a reason he was saying what he was saying. 

 Righting herself, she took a sip of her lemon tea and sat back, clearing her throat. “It’s good to see you’ve come to terms with the loss of your parents,” she said. “And it’s good to hear that line of thinking; it’s something we would all do well to remember. Things happen and you can’t go back and change it. You have to keep moving forward while recognizing that you can’t control everything in your life. But you must also remember that you can change _some_ things. You proved this by acting upon your desires to forge bonds that you’d been avoiding previously.”

 “Yeah, I get that. You know, in a strictly hypothetical sense. Sometimes putting into practice though…” Shepard blew hard through his nose and sat back up straight. “After my parents passed I was put into the foster care system. Bounced around through a few homes before I’d had enough and decided to try and make it on my own—which lasted a good six months before I realized I was in over my head.”

 “How old were you?”

 “When I left? Eight. Too dumb to realize I was making a mistake but stubborn enough that I thought I’d be better off alone. It was a couple months in that I found someone to run with. He was this kid named Finch. I don’t know how old he was but he acted like he was five and still wetted the bed. We stuck together until we both wandered into the Reds territory.”

 “And how was that?”

 “I remembered being scared shitless at the time.” He grinned. “They just cornered us and told us if we wanted to stick around we needed to do something for them. Of course at the time I thought they were going to sell me to Batarian slavers for some extra cash and I’d become some alien’s next meal.”

 “Instead they offered you a chance to join them.”

 “If I could steal for them.”

“And you did?”

 Shepard nodded. He didn’t seem ashamed of it, just very matter of fact. “I’d been pickpocketing for a little while before then. I had smaller hands back then.” He held up his hand, broad and marred by spider-web patterned cybernetic scars.

“How long were you with the Tenth Street Reds?” she asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to let Shepard tell his own story.

 “Ten years. Well, eleven, I guess. As soon as I turned eighteen I ran to the nearest Alliance registry and signed up. Didn’t even wait a day after my birthday,” he said. He took his tea and drank the rest, grimacing a bit.

 “Would you like some more tea?” she asked. Her tea had gone a bit cold, too.

 Shepard shook his head and mumbled ‘no thank you’.

 “So you got into the gang and stayed with them for eleven years… what was that like?”

 Shepard ran a hand over his short buzzed hair and rested his palm against the curve of the back of his skull. “It was… it made me feel safe for a while. Made me feel like I was part of a community—like I belonged to something. Running around by yourself will get you killed real quick, especially when you’re eight and living in the slums. Gangs attract kids because it’s all they’ve got for a family.”

 “And you joined because you wanted a family?”

 “Yeah… yeah I suppose I did. I just didn’t want to be alone. Looking out for yourself might be easier for a time but eventually you’ll wear down and let your guard down. I’d spent days without much sleep because I was worried someone was going to do something to me if I closed my eyes.”

 “Do you think you ever lost that hyper awareness while you were in the Reds?” she asked, making a note of his comment and the time stamp on it. Usually the hypervigilance soldiers showed were because of combat, but with Shepard perhaps it had manifested itself at a young age…

 “It got better when I joined the Reds. I could sleep without thinking I was going to get stabbed in the back or something.” He had seemingly shot down her theory, but there was an uncertainty to his voice, as if he were coming to the realization that his childhood had more of an influence on his behaviour now than he’d previously thought. “Of course when you’re in the military you’re trained to work on as little sleep as possible—even more so in the N7 programme. Maybe I’ve just always been like this… I don’t know.”

 He shrugged, his attention leaving Kentworth to look out the window again. Suddenly self-conscious of his behaviour he tried to relax, crossing his arms over his chest and stretching his leg out a little. But there was a wrinkle between his brows that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and she could tell his ‘relaxed’ pose was taking him a great effort to maintain.

 “If you’re not sleeping well I could suggest medica—”

 “No.”

 Well that was abrupt.

 She was tempted to push him to explain why, but she didn’t feel confident at all in their relationship yet. She just wrote herself another note.

_‘Strongly resistant to mention of sleep medication. Seems almost afraid of sleep. Childhood? Military?’_

 “Alright, I won’t press… so you joined to belong. Why did you leave?”

 “Because I was better than they were,” he said. He was shutting down. She’d overstepped with mention of medication and he was clearly unhappy. Well, unhapp _ier_.

 “Better how?”

 “I joined to get protection—to feel like I was a part of something. But a lot of the guys joined so they could do whatever the fuck they wanted. As I got older the men I’d come to see as my brothers turned out to be just a bunch of fucked up kids who had no clue what they were doing. They were more interested in spending their entire lives thieving and running drug rings. Most of them used more of their product than they sold. And before you ask, because I know you will, no, I did not become addicted to Red Sand or any other narcotic. I tried it but… just didn’t sit right with me.”

 He uncrossed his arms and sat up straight again, seemingly giving up on pretending he was anything but high strung and highly stressed.

 “And the Alliance seemed the perfect alternative? It would give you a sense of belonging while doing something with your life?” she suggested.

 Shepard nodded. “Yeah. Basically.”

 “How did you learn about the Alliance?”

 “How could you not know about it? Recruitment advertisements were everywhere where I lived. You couldn’t toss a rock without hitting the face of some Alliance representative telling you to join up. A lot of kids my age wanted out and the Alliance knew this. Most were too stupid to see the opportunity but a few of us knew what we’d get out of it.”

 “A family?”

 “A family that, at the time, said they’d never abandon you. Give you everything you needed—a job, a community, a sense of _purpose_ … everything.”

Kentworth frowned. “But you don’t sound convinced of that.”

 In fact he sounded down right bitter.

 “I believed it back then. In fact I believed it for sixteen years.”

 “What changed?”

 Shepard clenched his jaw and pressed his hands together. She watched as he squeezed till his knuckles went white. “Woke up from a coma and was told I wasn’t of use anymore. Watched helplessly as I was honourably discharged and told I’d done all I could for the cause, but now I had to find somewhere else to go now that I couldn’t kill like I used to be able to. They gave me that sense of purpose just like they promised. What they don’t tell you is that they’ll take it away just as quickly, and leave you with not a fucking thing to your name save for a few worthless shiny medals and some vague promise of being remembered for centuries to come.”

_Well… that was certainly telling._

“You seem bitter about the Alliance,” she said.

 Shepard snorted. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Anger towards the Alliance was common in her line of work. She’d seen countless veterans come through her office who felt betrayed, abandoned, and led astray by the military complex. She didn’t blame them, really. Most soldiers were abandoned in some manner—their trust betrayed and their lives tossed out all in the name of victory and petty bureaucracy. But she was surprised to hear this from Shepard. He was, essentially, their poster boy. He was the one touted by the propaganda machine to show what the Alliance could produce. The Saviour of the Galaxy had been one of _theirs_.

 It was odd they’d leave him on the side of the road just like so many others. But Kentworth thought back to her discussion with Hackett—how no one had done anything for him until very, very recently. The reasons why were still muddy to her, but she hoped she’d get some answers now.

 Shepard had other plans.

 “Why are you so upset with the Alliance, John? Do you feel betrayed or—”

“I’m not talking about this,” he said sharply.

 “Why not? Clearly this is causing you distress and—”

Shepard shook his head. “No; you said you wanted to talk about my childhood so we’ll talk about that. I’m not talking to you about this shit—especially when I’m still not sure what you really stand for.”

 “You don’t trust me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

 “I don’t. Not yet. You work for the Alliance, you have a strong career with them, been with them for pretty much your entire life. Why would I trust you?”

 Kentworth sighed. She had to be honest with him. “You’re right, in many ways. I do have a long history with the Alliance. But my loyalty does not lie with them—it lies with the men and women like you. If they asked me to betray your trust or any of my other patients’ I wouldn’t. I will pick you before the Alliance every time. I know you don’t believe me right now, and honestly I don’t expect you to. You barely know me, and we’ve had little time to forge any sort of bond. But I ask that you at least give me a chance to prove that you can come to trust and rely on me.”

 She picked her words carefully, evening her tone so as to calm Shepard down. He was getting fidgety again and looked ready to grab his cane and leave a good twenty minutes early.

 Slowly—very slowly—he sat back and nodded. “I still don’t want to talk about the Alliance,” he finally said.

 “Alright, we won’t talk about the Alliance. We will go back to my original question. You joined the Reds because you wanted family, but left because you became disillusioned with them. Did you feel any regret or remorse when you left? Or perhaps happiness and relief?”

XX

 “I’ll see you in three days. In the meantime I’d like you to fill out that diary for me that I gave you. You don’t have to write every thought down, but please try and make a note about how you feel that day if nothing else.”

 Shepard nodded. “To see how I’m doing?”

 “Exactly that, John. I’d like to see how your mood fluctuates and what the reasons are.”

 She opened the door to her office and let Shepard go through first, noting how he was trying to hide how he favoured his right. She understood why he tried to hide his limp but found it utterly silly in this environment. She had a worse limp and was not one to judge but… well, strength was everything for a lot of these men; or the _illusion_ of strength.

 Following Shepard down the hallway, she spotted a dark haired man she’d never seen before sitting in the waiting room, eyes closed and head resting back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. As soon as he heard footsteps he sat up and broke out into a soft smile upon seeing John.

 And there was the famous Kaidan.

 She left them to their privacy and approached Helen’s desk, asking her for her next patient’s datapad. She was terrible at keeping track of her own datapads for each patient, losing one amongst the clutter of her desk. There was probably some deeply revealing reason to why she cluttered every space she occupied with personal and not so personal effects, but she didn’t much relish in psychoanalyzing herself.

 “Mrs. Latimer said she’d be a little late today. Her husband just returned from London and she wanted to pick him up from the docks before she came in for her session,” Helen explained.

 Kentworth nodded, watching Shepard out of the corner of her eye as he headed to the elevator alongside his partner. He kept up with trying to hide the limp, but she could see how tightly he gripped his cane, a grimace on his features as he stopped while Kaidan opened the door for him.

 “Have a good evening, John,” she said as they left the office.

 Shepard returned the sentiment and left without a look back, pace a bit fast. He clearly was not enjoying himself at her office. _He acts like I’ve been pulling his teeth out one by one…_

 She kept her eye on him through the glass as they approached the elevator at the end of the hallway, back still ramrod straight even though she knew it was hurting him. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator and the doors were closing she saw him give up the façade and lean against his partner, Kaidan’s arm immediately wrapping around his waist just as the doors closed with a gentle ping that could be heard down the quiet hallway.

 “Let Janet in as soon as she arrives, Helen,” she mumbled as she headed back into her office, not even attempting to hide how her back creaked and her knees ached.

 Eventually you just got tired of pretending.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to teadrunktailor for beta'ing! And once again, thanks for all the comments/kudos/reads! I'm glad you're all enjoying it.

 The sheets were cool against his skin and the air was clear and clean, the smell of sterilizer replacing smoke, charred flesh, and the heavy copper scent of blood. The screaming and gunfire were gone, and all that was left was the beep of a heart monitor and the gentle hum of conversation just outside in the hallway.

 “—he should really stay an extra night.”

 “Legally we can’t keep him here.”

“Can’t his superiors do anything?”

 “They tried but they can’t take away his free will and autonomy. Besides, he’s been schedules for a psych evaluation tomorrow. He’ll be back regardless. We can check up on him then.”

 Shepard listened to the conversation between the doctors as he put his shirt on, easy movements the entire way. His side was badly bruised, the medi-gel only doing so much to dull the ache from the once broken ribs. His fingers were stiff, days of clutching his gun and pulling the trigger making it painful to do normal things— _civilian_ things—like doing up buttons and washing his face.

 Standing, he grabbed his dog tags and slipped them on. Scanning the room to see if he’d missed anything (he hadn’t arrived with much anyways), he chanced a glance at the woman lying in the bed across from him. She’d been plugged into a variety of machines, some pumping her full of antibiotics and liquids while others monitored her vitals. They’d been touch and go for the first night, Shepard listening in as she crashed twice, nurses and doctors rushing in to stabilize her before leaving with bleaker outlooks for her survival each time.

But she’d stayed level all morning, and Shepard noted the colour returning to her cheeks. She might make it.

 He couldn’t say the same for most of the others that had been deployed on Torfan.

 Striding toward the door, Shepard hid his grimace as his side pulled uncomfortable, and slipped past the doctors standing at the doorway. Hoping against all rational hope that they’d just let him go, he was disappointed but unsurprised when one called out to him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 “You should really consider staying another night, sir.”

 He shrugged off the Salarian’s hand. “Thanks, doc, but I’m alright.”

 “You suffered substantial bruising to your internal organs and there could be complications later,” the Asari doctor said. She was giving him a hard stare, a contrast to the Salarian who looked worried.

_Nice try but the good cop, bad cop act isn’t going to work on me._

 “Thanks for your concern but I’m going to be fine.”

 He left then, not wanting to give them a chance to try and guilt him into staying.

He found out later that night, sitting alone in the barracks that were a lot more empty than they’d been a few days ago, that the marine he’d shared a room with died of her injuries.

 Just another victim of the Butcher of Torfan.

XX

 He was standing today.

 He’d come in moving easier than the last time, but with the smoothness came a restlessness. He’d sat on the couch for only a few minutes, tapping away at the armrest as Kentworth went over his diary, before getting up and pacing back and forth beside the windows, looking much like a big cat locked inside an old zoo.

 “Any particular reason you’re pacing?” she asked as she read the last entry. They all said much the same thing. Just a brief rundown of his day (he didn’t seem to do a lot in a day besides his physio exercises and running household errands, which was probably cause for some concern; idle veterans made for dangerous veterans), followed by how he was feeling which never amounted to anything beyond ‘alright’ or the occasional ‘angry’. No elaboration, of course. It was all very vague and entirely frustrating.

 Not surprising, however.

 “Just restless,” he said, stopping in front of the window to stare out at the scaffolding that had marred the Vancouver skyline for the last two years.

“Any reason why you’re restless today?” she prompted. Putting the journal away she turned on the audio recorder and flipped open his file.

 He didn’t reply. Kentworth couldn’t decide whether or not he was being purposely uncooperative or he hadn’t heard her.

 Sighing, she pressed on. “Your journal said you were feeling angry yesterday, John. Why?”

 Again there was no answer.

 “John, I need you to sit down,” she said evenly.

  His hand twitched around the handle of his cane.

 “John, I need you to cooperate with me—”

“I’ve seen psychiatrists before,” Shepard interrupted. His voice was level and he sounded present in the room, but he kept his back to Kentworth and continued to stare out across the way.

 “I read that in your file. You were evaluated how many times?” At least he was talking.

 “Four times.”

 “It’s not uncommon for the Alliance to do multiple assessments during the course of a marine’s career,” she said.

 “They recommended I stay for more sessions once. After Torfan. I convinced them I was fine by lying to the psychiatrist…”

He turned around and finally sat back down on the couch. She let him get comfortable before prompting another question.

 “Do you remember why they asked you to continue?” she asked.

 Shepard shrugged. Flicking a piece of invisible lint off his jeans, he sat back further on the couch, the leather shifting under his weight. “You read about what happened at Torfan. If you were to psychoanalyze me after that what would you have suggested?”

 “Well, considering I didn’t analyze you I can’t really say what I’d have suggested.”

 Shepard didn’t say anything further. He kept looking around the room, his good knee bouncing up and down. Something was clearly eating away at him.

 And then it clicked.

 “It’s the anniversary of the events at Torfan, isn’t it?” she asked gently.

 Shepard nodded.

Anniversaries of particular events could trigger a variety of reactions in veterans—most of them unpleasant. A man could go years without feeling a thing, but then a certain memory could be dredged up and quick as you please, the days, weeks, even the month leading up to a particularly traumatic event could trigger a whole series of anxiety attacks, heightened awareness, night terrors, depression—even violent episodes.

 “Is that why you wrote how you were feeling angry yesterday? And why you feel so restless today?”

 Shepard stilled his knee, suddenly self-conscious of the movement. “Probably. I mean, yeah… yeah that makes sense. It hasn’t always bothered me, though.”

 “The anniversary?”

 “Yes. I did fine for a while. I just kind of… I dunno.” He waved his hand.

 “Pushed it aside?”

 Shepard nodded. “I didn’t think about it much. Everyone else did, of course. Got myself a reputation and a shiny new nickname to go along with it,” he said bitterly. He was still looking down at his knee, avoiding eye contact.

 He looked ashamed, honestly; ashamed and a bit guilty. Kentworth had read the reports on the incident but hadn’t done much else with the information. She had wanted to hear Shepard’s story—not some other person’s version of it. Hoping he’d be amicable she decided to prompt him to tell her about it.

 “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your experiences during this time? Was this your first experience with combat?”

 Shepard hesitated a moment and she could almost hear him swallow. Finally he looked up, big baby blues locking with her own green pair. “It wasn’t. I’d been deployed before during the Blitz. Torfan was after I’d gotten a bit of a taste for battle. Send the new guys out on a few easy missions to see how they deal with the stress. If they did well, deploy them into tougher situations until they’re so amped up they can’t stop, even if they wanted to. Going into battle it’s… it’s like a drug. It sinks into your gut and it just becomes intoxicating almost.”

 “You felt like you were made for this, didn’t you? The rush of battle was something you thrived in, and that positive reinforcement made it easier to continue,” she suggested.

 Shepard nodded in agreement. “Exactly. The Alliance must have seen it in me because they moved me up the officer ranks quickly until I had my own unit. Again, we were sent on easy assignments, just to see how we worked together and if I could lead competently.”

 “And how did that promotion make you feel?”

 Shepard paused and seemed to carefully consider the question before answering. “It made me feel important—like I was making something of myself. As a kid I’d felt mostly forgotten, you know? I had rank in the gang but I didn’t feel proud attaining it. I mostly got it because I wasn’t half brain dead and knew how to get shit done. But my position in the Alliance was something I worked for; something I wanted to excel in. I’d never wanted anything so badly than to move up the ranks in the Alliance Navy I wanted to be the best and when I made it I… I don’t know. I felt like I belonged. Like I could really make something of myself after years of being told I wasn’t worth much.

 “I felt the same when I made it into the N7 programme. A challenge like that isn’t afforded to many people, and those who succeed are even fewer. When I got the report saying I’d made my N7 rank I… I actually cried a little.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, showing a bashfulness and humility that she’d not expected.

 Shepard was attached to the military—no two ways about it. Some men and women were just made for the environment; the rigid, strict structure that didn’t suffer fools lightly, that demanded the best and would only take the best. Mediocrity was not to be entertained. It was what the N7 programme was looking for in recruits, and it seemed Shepard was the perfect candidate.

 Those who thrived in that environment were a special sort of people. They were usually difficult to get along with in most situations. Their strict training and their ‘get the job done’ mentality made it so they appeared a little odd to those outside the system. Even those who were in the system occasionally questioned the abrupt, almost ruthlessness of the elite.

 Sometimes that made for difficult commanders…

 “That’s a wonderful accomplishment, John. You should feel proud of what you attained in the military.”

 She could have prompted him to perhaps discuss his sudden bitterness toward the Alliance—to go more in depth with what he’d said their last session. It was clearly causing him distress, but in that moment she wanted to build more of a picture during his time at Torfan.

 “So you got your first command. Did you find it easy to lead them, or was there a steep learning curve? And how did you feel around them? Was it easy to integrate?”

 Sitting back Shepard crossed his arms over his chest as he mulled over the question. “Honestly? I think I struggled. I had never had a group rely on me like that and it was hard to keep everything in order. I was… I was harsh, I think. I wanted the best from my team and when they didn’t perform I got frustrated. I… I pushed them. I thought it was for the best but… but I don’t think it was in the end. I got most of them killed doing that…”

 Kentworth jotted down a few notes as he spoke, noting his posture and his demeanour. “Tell me about Torfan, John. Tell me what happened.”

 “We got the detail a couple of months into my posting,” Shepard began, choosing his words carefully. “We were to clean out some Batarian slave traders. Just before that the war had been going on for a while and shit was really tense. There was a lot of anti-Batarian sentiment going on and we all just wanted the war to be over. We were all fucking sick of it, you know? The war with the Batarians was different from the war with Reaper forces. Batarians were still… I dunno, they were still human, even though they aren’t humans like us. But they had families and loved ones and connections to this world. But they also had the ability to be cruel.

 “So going in, things were already really fucking tense. We all went in thinking if we cleared this section out, we’d stop the war. Of course one battle isn’t going to end a war but we hoped, you know? So I went in thinking about all this; about how we had to be successful. How the Batarians had killed half of us already using trip wires, acid rounds, and shitty fucking tactics. I went in thinking about how we had to complete the mission no matter the cost. The mission was what mattered, not the people trying to complete it.”

 He grew silent then, his gaze leaving hers as he looked down at the floor again. Kentworth let him collect himself, not wanting to push him too far. She trusted him to come back to her.

 And he did. It took a few minutes but he returned, this time steadier in his speech.

 “When we got to Torfan, the Batarians were dug in deep. They had everything fortified and were smug sons of bitches about it, too. They kept mocking us—trying to get us to throw ourselves in. It didn’t work at first. We'd wait until they let their guard down before making a move. My guys and I were supposed to take the flank—go in after the initial charge and catch them from the side while they worried about the forces up front. But… but it didn’t work out as planned.”

 “How so?”

 “They had forces stationed on the other side who were expecting that kind of attack. We should have held off, and we would have had I not…” he paused and looked away again, “We would have had I not pushed us forward. I let my emotions get the better of me. I wanted them gone. No… no, I wanted them _dead_. They’d been pissing around with us and I wasn’t about to let them get away with it. The mission was what mattered and I kept thinking that to justify my actions. But I lead my platoon into that viper's nest knowing full it wasn’t going to end well. But I just had to do it. I didn’t care in that moment what happened to my men or even myself. I just wanted them _dead_.”

 Kentworth watched Shepard carefully. He was squeezing down on his arms so hard his knuckles had gone white and then red. His brows were drawn tight and his gaze was distant. He was reliving that moment. She had to stop it.

 “John, come back to me,” she said sharply.

 It worked. His head snapped up, eyes locking on hers. It had been a gamble. The sudden interruption could have triggered something in him, and she’d seen more than her fair share of men and women coming out of their nightmares violently. She’d been hit once, even. But Shepard didn’t hurt her. He grabbed for his cane but that was it. He was present once more.

 “How many of your men survived?” she asked quietly.

 Shepard swallowed and took a deep breath before answering, voice steady, belying his inner turmoil. “Of forty, only fifteen of us returned. We took the base but… but the victory was hollow.”

 He hung his head.

 “That sounds like a traumatic experience, John. Did you seek any help afterward?”

 He shrugged. “Like I said, they suggested I attend a few sessions but I didn’t want to. People’s reaction to me afterward really fucked me up. I was seen a monster or a ‘butcher’ by many, but the Alliance applauded me for taking the base no matter the cost. I thought the Alliance was right, you know? I shoved all my emotions aside and just went with it. I embraced the ruthless personality they’d all assigned me. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong for the longest time.”

 “And now? Do you regret your actions?”

 Shepard nodded slowly. 

 “John, you did what you thought you had to do at the time. Men undergo untold amounts of stress during their time in the field and it sounds to me like you needed a rest long before Torfan. The Alliance used you for too long and put you away wet; it’s understandable that you’d eventually break under the pressure.”

 “But I wasn’t supposed to break,” he snapped. “I was supposed to be in control; that’s why they sent me in. They trusted me—my platoon trusted me. And what did I do? I fucking lost it; I sent my men into battle knowing fully well they’d probably die and I didn’t care!”

 “You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened, John,” she replied quickly, not at all alarmed by his yelling. “I know you like to think that you’re supposed to be in full control of every situation but you aren’t. Yes, you made a mistake. Yes, men died on your watch. But you saved countless lives afterward. Your Normandy crew is alive and prospering because of your watchful eye and careful guidance. You learned from your mistakes and the costs was high, but their sacrifice was not in vain. You can tear yourself up again and again about what happened in the past but sooner or later you’re going to have to remember that you can’t change it.”

 Shepard opened his mouth as if to retort, but snapped it close immediately afterward. He didn’t say anything, just stared across at her, as if daring her to continue.

 She did.

 “You need to accept that you can’t control everything in your life. You’re losing that control but that’s okay. What matters here is that you accept the chaos before you find order within it. There is a reason you’re here, John. I know you don't think you need the help but you do. And this is one of the reasons why. You need to admit that you’re not in control.”

 He clenched his jaw and continued to stare. She just sat there, calm and collected, trying to keep the energy in the room somewhat manageable. Finally Shepard slumped slightly and turned away, gazing out the window.

 “You sound like Kaidan,” he mumbled.

 “Kaidan sounds like a very sensible chap then,” she replied.

 That drew a small smile out from Shepard. “Yeah, guess so.”

 Shepard was quieter. It seemed her forceful talk had calmed him more than angered him. Sometimes the harsh truth was the best way to approach veterans like Shepard. A quick bop on the nose with a newspaper and they’d snap right out of it.

 “He’s the reason I agreed to come,” Shepard said after a time.

 “Kaidan?”

 He nodded and looked back at Kentworth. “We’d been having difficulties for a while. I mean, we love each other, but I know I’ve been wearing on him. We had planned to start a life together after the war if we both survived, and it was what kept us going those few final weeks before the Crucible was finished. But then I got hurt. Badly. Our new life began with me in a hospital bed for months upon months, going in and out of surgeries and comas. He stayed with me, though. _Every_ major surgery he was there beside me when I woke up.

 “We both thought that things would get better after I was out of the hospital, but it got worse. _I_ got worse. I’ve gotten… angry. I can’t walk properly, I’ve been discharged from the only thing that gave me a purpose, and I feel like… like I have no future. Every night I sleep maybe four hours and spend the rest of the night stalking the perimeter of our house because I feel like if I don’t then something will come into the house and kill Kaidan. And when I do sleep I have nightmares that make me feel like I’m suffocating to death all over again.” He was speaking faster, mind running a mile a minute as he laid it all out in one angry, bitter rant. Part of her wanted to stop him, seeing how frustrated he was getting, but the clinical side of her let it continue, knowing that he needed to get it out—suck the poison out so he could move on.

 He’d probably never told anyone any of this.

 “The only thing that still makes me happy is Kaidan,” he continued “but I know I’ve been wearing him thin. He worries a lot. Like, a fucking insane amount; mostly about other people and never himself. And he’s worried about me so much lately that the doctors said he’s at risk to develop stomach ulcers. Fucking _stomach ulcers_. I’m making the most important person to me physically sick because I’m so fucked up. None of this is what we planned together and I’m just ruining it because I can’t move on. None of this is what Kaidan deserves…”

 He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his head to cup the back of his neck, fingers pressed into his biotic amp. “So I’m doing this for him,” he said, steadier this time. “I’m doing this for Kaidan. I knew after the incident with the reporter that I had to act quickly. I scared us both that day…”

 “Tell me what happened,” she said. This was what she’d been waiting for—the incident that triggered all of this; the therapy, the introspection, all of it.

 Shepard sighed and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Someone flashed a red light in my eye when they were interviewing me. It came from their camera or something but it didn’t register properly with me. For some reason I thought it was a light from a Reaper and I just… I dunno, I lost it. I can’t remember much about the actual incident but I remember coming to, Kaidan over top me on the floor, restraining me. The look on his face… fuck, he looked fucking terrified—of _me_.”

 “Sounds like you reacted to a trigger, John.”

 He looked up at her, a brow quirked. “Trigger?”

 She nodded. “It can be a variety of things—a smell, a sound or a sight—that reminds a person of a traumatic experience. It usually results in serious reactions if they go untreated and undocumented. You probably never even knew this was a trigger before this happened, did you?”

 “No,” he said, shaking his head. “But it makes sense…” He sighed heavily and sat back. “Any way to fix it?”

 “Slow exposure to a trigger can help dull the effect and make it easier to handle it. Being aware of all your triggers is also helpful. We can try and figure out what your triggers are and work on them accordingly. You’ll never be cured of a trigger, per se, but they can become manageable and easier to deal with. Your reaction to the red light can become just a minor twinge over time.”

 “And everything else going on with me? Can that become manageable?”

 “I don’t know, John. I need you to admit you need help before we can make any progress.”

  She wondered if he was going to go for it. He’d opened up a lot today; more than she had expected. And now she knew why. Kaidan. He was worried for his partner

 It was the small, human things that broke down all barriers in life.

 He didn’t say anything for a while and instead stared at the floor, deep in thought, jaw clenched tight. Finally, he looked back up at her.

 “You’re right,” Shepard said firmly. “I’m not in control and… and I haven’t been for years, probably. I just ignored it because I didn’t want to face it but… but I’m not in control and its hurting the ones I love.”

 “And it’s hurting you as well,” she said. “But it is good to hear you admit this, John. It’s a very good step in your road to recovery.”

 He didn’t look so sure, but she’d make him realize he was doing the right things, both for himself and those he cared about.

XX

 “Remember, John—communication. Tell Kaidan tonight what you’re going through. He needs to know that it’s an important anniversary for you and that it makes things a bit difficult. He can help you but you have to let him know. Communication is key.”

 She had him cornered at the doorway, not letting him escape quickly like he was wont to do. Kentworth was confident the night would be easier for him now that he’d spoken to her about it, but she was a firm believer in community healing. Kaidan and those around him needed to know his struggles so they could ease him through the process.

 “I will, don’t worry.”

 “And go do something fun tonight. Take your mind off of everything just for a little while. Go for dinner or stay in and watch a favourite vid. Or have sex.”

 Shepard made a face. “Uh… okay.”

_The young ones are always such prudes. As if I, a mother of two, have no idea what sex is… honestly, kids these days._

She watched him leave, taking note on how he was still moving easier than the session before. She needed to find out about his physio sessions to see if there was a correlation between his mood and his exercises. She also needed to know more about his home life. But she was beginning to unravel the Gordian knot that had wrapped itself around Shepard like a noose.

 It was a start.

 “And don’t forget to write in your journal,” she called down the hallway.

 Shepard sent her a wave but otherwise seemed to pay her little mind. He was solely focused on the person waiting for him. She watched as Shepard greeted Kaidan with a half hug, a smile she’d not seen on his face as he gently kissed the grey hairs on his temple.

Kentworth had confidence in Shepard’s recovery. He just needed to believe it, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning for this chapter: There are mentions of anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts (ish)
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments! Y'all are peaches :)

 Shepard stared down at his knee. The scars that criss-crossed over the bones and muscles were pink and puckered from the most recent round of surgeries, the gel he was told to put on every night to promote healing long forgotten. In fact he’d not even bothered to buy the damn stuff in the first place. It was just cosmetic anyway—it wasn’t as if it’d take the pain away, rebuild his life, and give him his career back.

 Running his finger along the most recent one, he poked the middle until it hurt too much. He did it again. And again. And—

 The sound of the porch door opening behind him made him stop, and he dropped his hand back down on to his lap as the clink of beer bottles grew closer. Taking the bottle passed to him, he gave it a once over.

 “Thought I wasn’t supposed to drink with my medication,” he said.

 Kaidan shrugged. Sitting down on the deck steps next to Shepard’s chair, he took a long drink before answering. “You stopped taking the heavy duty crap so it’ll be okay. Just drink it.”

 He did just that. The cold, bitter liquid slid down his throat and rested in his gut comfortably. Picking at the label with his thumb, Shepard watched Kaidan. He looked like he wanted to say something, his fingers tapping the side of his bottle as he looked out across the backyard, thick brows drawn tight together as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

 Shepard wasn’t sure if he wanted him to say anything and let him sit in silence, or fill that silence with sincere but ultimately useless words of comforts.

 Kaidan decided for him.

 “You know you can always appeal the discharge. They said it was just in the process of happening but that it hadn’t gone through officially just yet.”

 “And if it gets repealed? You know I’ll just be stuck on desk duty.”

 Kaidan sighed and nodded. They both took another deep drink.

 “I’m sorry about all of this,” Kaidan said after another minute of silence. “They shouldn’t have just messaged you like that.”

 Shepard shrugged. “It’s fine.” It really wasn’t. He felt like screaming; he felt like ripping his bloody leg off; he felt like he should have died in the rubble of the Citadel like he’d prepared for long ago; mostly he just felt like curling up into a ball and sleeping for the next century. At least in his dreams he could still run and walk and fuck and fight like he used to. At least in his dreams he was still a marine.

 But he couldn’t even dream anymore. All he had were nightmares.

 “John, I know you’re trying to do that stoic bullshit thing you do when you don’t want to share what you’re really feeling.” Kaidan said. He stood up and crouched down in front of Shepard. Shepard tried to look away but Kaidan caught his chin, rough fingers locking his head in place. Bright sorrowful blue locked with determined brown. “You’re going to get through this. You’re going to figure things out. I know right now it seems bleak, but you’re not defined by the Alliance, John. You’re your own man. You don’t need them anymore.”

It’d be easy to open up to Kaidan right there. Tell him how he was scared as fuck about the future; how he had no idea if he even _had_ a future now. The Alliance was his life—it was what gave him purpose. In the N7 programme, he was the best of the best. He could run for miles and blast through a garrison’s defences with his biotics, shoot a moving target from a mile away and stand down a reaper alone. Now he had to retrain his hands to hold a pencil. Now he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom without a cane. Now he couldn’t even the meet the eyes of a good friend and tell him he’d killed his girl because he’d been too afraid to make any other choice.

 He was suffocating all over again. He was lost in space and running out of oxygen and he couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry, couldn’t ask for help even though he knows he needs it because he’s such a fucking coward, afraid and ashamed and just a goddamn mess that can’t even save himself let alone the galaxy—

 “Shepard?”

 “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he said quietly. He took Kaidan’s hand in his own and dropped them on to his lap. Running his thumb along the veins on the back of his hand, Shepard got lost in the feel of another person next to him.

 He could breathe a little easier with Kaidan here, with him, side by side. He just wished he could tell him that.

Kaidan stood but kept their hands linked. Bending over he kissed Shepard on the crown of his head, a move that would have been infantilizing had it not felt so reassuring.

 “You’ll figure it out, John. _We’ll_ figure it out. Together.”

  All Shepard could do was squeeze his hand and hope he was right.

XX

“How is your new anxiety medication working for you, John?”

 Shepard had finally agreed to medication a few sessions ago. Kentworth had brought the topic up a few times but had always been shot down, Shepard adamant that he wanted nothing to do with ‘drugs that fuck with your brain’. She somewhat agreed, but saw his reasoning based more on an archaic view of psychiatric medicine, where doctors tried multiple drugs all with varying and sometimes horrifying side effects.

 But it wasn’t the year 2015 any longer. They’d come a long way in developing safe, effective anti-depressants that didn’t leave a man numb and emotionally removed from their loved ones. But Shepard remained firm on his refusal.

 She hadn’t even brought up the suggestion of sleep medication since their first session.

 But one day he had a panic attack. There had been what he only referred to as a ‘vid call from hell’ with an ‘old friend’ that had sent him spiraling. Kaidan had called asking if they could have an emergency session, and Kentworth did all she could to keep him calm. After that he’d agreed to the anxiety medication. It would just keep him regular—no massive mood spikes as he was prone to have. He’d been on them for a week and his diary entries reflected this, fewer ‘angry’ and ‘anxious’ entries and more ‘alright’ and ‘good’—a step-up for Shepard, indeed.

 “Alright… I think. Not sure what it’s supposed to do to be labeled effective but… I feel… steadier,” he said. He was playing with a pen he’d taken from her desk as he walked past, asking permission before plucking it from the stack of datapads and other assorted things that cluttered her desk.

 It was an old pen—a real pen, with ink and everything. An antique, but not a valuable one. Shepard seemed to enjoy how the tip could go in and out with the click of a button on the top, and kept clicking it in and out with a brooding expression on his face.

 No… no it wasn’t quite a brood today. Kentworth was staring to become adept at telling his mood just from the way he furrowed his brows and held his mouth. Today he was… pouting.

 “And yet you look rather put out. What’s on your mind?” she asked, turning on the recorder.

 Shepard sighed and sat back, still fiddling with the pen, this time twirling it around with his fingers. The movement was halted, as if his fingers couldn’t quiet remember the steps. “Kaidan left.”

 She felt her stomach drop. No—no this was not good. Kaidan was his only source of grounding at the moment. Shepard wasn’t in contact with his old crew despite her urging to contact at least one other person (‘ _They’re all busy with rebuilding and… some don’t want to see me’_ ), and Kaidan was the one person who, as Shepard put it, made him feel normal—like he wasn’t a complete wreck like he thought he was. She had to do damage control—she had to get him to open up no matter what and then figure out a way to keep him stabilized before sending him off to his empty house.

Shepard looked up just as she was about to utter her sincerest apologies, but the expression that flashed across his face stopped her. He looked like how she felt, eyes wide and mouth falling open.

 “Oh shit—no, no I don’t mean left as in left me. I mean he went off on Alliance business for a few weeks,” he rushed to explain.

 “Oh thank goodness,” she said. Resting her hand on her chest she felt her heartbeat even out, a wry smile slipping on to her lips. “You gave me quite the fright.”

 “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” he got up and touched her shoulder gently, ducking down to give her face a once-over. She was reminded very suddenly by how caring the lad could be. Behind that gruff exterior lay a man who, in the end, probably cared too much about a lot of things.

 “I’m fine, John. I’m just terribly old. It takes a few minutes to recover from the slightest of changes after you reach the age of ninety.”

 “I’ll get you a glass of water,” he said. She was about to tell him she was really fine and he shouldn’t worry himself, but he’d set his mind to it, already trudging off to the pitcher in the corner by her desk, cane abandoned and severe limp out on display.

 It showed how far he’d come the last two months. He tried his hardest to hide the limp when he’d first arrived and now here he was, unashamed, or at the very least, less self-conscious about it. She liked to think she’d played some part in his acceptance but knew it came mostly down to his physio. He’d been working hard, he’d told her. He could even start going for small walks without the cane. Small being the operative word, but without the cane none-the-less.

  She took a sip of the offered water and placed it on the small side table next to her chair. “Thank you, John; that was very kind of you.”

 He sat back down and stretched his leg out under the table. “I was afraid I’d given you a heart attack,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

 “Trust me—it would take something either truly shocking or utterly ridiculous to surprise me enough to give me a heart attack at this point,” she said. “So back on topic—Kaidan has left for a few weeks?”

 Shepard nodded. Immediately the pout came back. Kentworth suspected she might give _him_ a heart attack if she told him he was pouting, however.

 “He’s stationed in Vancouver, teaching the new biotics who come through. It was mostly for search and rescue but lately the focus of the Alliance has shifted from that to other needs, like rebuilding the Mass Relays and securing borders. But Kaidan’s pretty high ranking now so he’s kind of sent out when they need administrative stuff done. Or so he tells me.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “You don’t believe him?”

 Shepard sighed and sunk a little into the couch. “I get all my information about what’s going on with the Alliance from him. I’ve been discharged and with that come the loss of everything—including scuttlebutt. But I know he does some fighting occasionally. With the galaxy so destabilized, pirates and slavers have wasted no time in hitting the already weakened colonies and cities. So… yeah, pretty sure he’s not,” Shepard made quotations in the air, “’shoving paperwork around and looking authoritative’.”

 “You seemed troubled by this,” she said.

 “Kind of, yeah, I guess. I don’t know if your husband was ever Alliance, but being with someone who regularly puts themselves in danger, and being unable in any way to see they are protected and come out of it alright, is… it’s _frustrating_.”

“Well you did spend the greater part of your later years in the Alliance fighting alongside Kaidan. You were used to being the one to watch his back. Now, you worry that the person who has replaced you in that role is going to fail.”

 “Sounds about right.”

 “But there is something else to it. You and I both know that Kaidan is a capable soldier—you yourself said he’s stronger with biotics and tech than you are…”

 “Your point?”

 Shepard sat up straighter and began clicking the pen again. For such a stone faced marine in the face of a Reaper, he sure did tend to crumble when it came to anything remotely revealing about his emotions. Kentworth was beginning to catch his tells—figure out when he was telling the truth or trying to cover up something. A twitch here, a glance there, the ram-rod straight back…

 “I think there is another reason you are upset when he leaves for these extended periods of time. And I think you know why.”

 “Well I mean… he is one of my best friends. We do everything together when he’s here, and when he’s gone I’m pretty much all alone for a long time. Everything is a little easier when he’s around, you know? Plus I don’t get to have sex—” Shepard snapped his mouth shut abruptly, seemingly realizing he was talking to his old, grandmotherly therapist and not his Turian or Krogan friends.

 “You miss him—that’s obvious. He is you friend and your lover, not to mention someone you’ve come to depend on for quite a lot. All of this is normal, John. But that is not what I’m hinting at. There is another reason you look so glum and I suspect it has less to do with Kaidan leaving and more to do with how he’s going without you.”

 Shepard crossed his arms tightly over his chest and stared ahead, avoiding Kentworth’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 Kentworth pushed down the urge to roll her eyes. “You’re jealous, Shepard. You want to do what he’s doing and you’re jealous that he can continue his service while you stay at home, honourably discharged and, in your mind, abandoned by the Alliance.”

 It was a gamble. She’d not been able to get Shepard to open up about his resentment toward the Alliance since their first session together. It was a topic wrought with high emotions and a great deal of mistrust. She just hoped she’d proven herself trustworthy enough that he’d see _her_ before her Alliance position.

 He clenched his jaw and continued to stare at something behind her. She watched the muscles at his temples flex, giving away the fact that he was working his jaw back and forth, much like a horse chomping away at the bit. His eyes darkened a fraction and she thought maybe she’d judged wrong once again, but then when he looked back at her the frustration wasn’t directed at her.

 “I’m not jealous, I’m… well… I am jealous but…” he paused, seemingly working through his thoughts before plowing forward. “I’m resentful.”

 “Toward Kaidan? Or the Alliance?”

 “Both?” he sighed heavily. “I know that’s a shitty thing to say—that you’re resentful for your partner’s success but… but I can’t help it, you know? I am proud of him, too. But I’m also… fuck, I don’t know.”

“You’re proud and happy that Kaidan is succeeding, but a part of you feels that you should be succeeding alongside him? You don’t wish him any ill will, you just wish you could continue to work as well?” she suggested.

 Shepard shrugged. “Maybe. I try not to think about it too much, because if I do I start getting frustrated, and when I usually get frustrated I try and tell Kaidan about it. Well, now I do. Before therapy I just bottled it up. But I’m trying, yeah? So when this comes up I can’t tell him any of it. I don’t want him to know that anytime he tells me about what he did that day for the Alliance, or how he got a commendation from the Council for something he did as a Spectre, or how the N7’s are prospering  again after losing so many men and women in the fight, I just… I shut down. I don’t want to hear it. I just can’t be happy for him even though I want to, you know? I want to support him and I want to be happy but I just keep thinking about how I’m not doing any of this anymore. I’m stuck at home sitting at the deck in the backyard putting together cheap, shitty model aircrafts Kaidan’s mum bought for me, while Kaidan is doing good. While he’s off living his life and helping people and… I feel… pitiful and bitter, and like a terrible partner.”

 “Are you sure this is about Kaidan, John? This sounds to me like he’s become a lightning rod for your frustrations against the Alliance.”

 Shepard shot her a sceptical look. “You think so?”

 “I don’t know for certain, but the way you talk about your partner indicates to me that you are happy for him and that you don’t begrudge his success. It more sounds to me like you still haven’t let your military career go. In a way, you’ve not mourned for it properly.”

 “Mourned?”

 Kentworth crossed her arms and perched them on her knee. “The Alliance was a massive part of your life, John. You said so yourself. It gave you a sense of purpose; it gave you some place that you could belong. You spent a large portion of your life doing all you could for the Alliance. And then it was taken away. In many respects the Alliance represented you in your entirety. You met all of your friends through it, you found something you were truly good at and that made you happy, and it allowed you to become a well-known, household name.  And now it’s all over. You were honourably discharged and told that you were no good anymore—or, at least, that is how you see it. And instead of understanding that and coming to terms with it, you’ve fought against it. You see that with the end of your Alliance career, everything you are—everything that makes you who you are—has also come to an end. But it doesn’t have to be that way, John.”

 Shepard was staring down at his lap by the time she was done. He was gripping the pen she’d given him tightly, pressing his thumb hard on the top until his knuckles when white. He swallowed thickly before replying. “I feel abandoned by them,” he gritted out. “They promise you everything—a career, a life, a chance to make something of yourself. And they deliver on that promise. But then they don’t prepare you for what happens after. No one ever talks about the soldiers who can’t move like they used to or think like they used to. They just talk about the success—they want to show off how proud and effective their team is. And the marines like me? We get left behind. Shoved into a dark corner, told to move on with our lives after they’ve moulded us into being the perfect killing machines.

 “I mean, I don’t know how to function in civilian life. They never taught me how to hold down a desk job or work with the public. I didn’t get a degree in medicine or engineering while I was in the Alliance. I was just a grunt—a dumbass vanguard good for ripping aliens apart with my biotics and planning platoon advancements. I don’t know how to do anything else. But the Alliance doesn’t care about that. They thank you for all your hard work with a few medals and then tell you to go be normal again. I don’t even know what normal _is_.”

 This was an all too common and, frankly, shameful aspect of the military complex. The military never set up safety nets for those who might slip through the cracks, and seemed almost negligent when their soldiers were of no use to them anymore. They trained them for a specific purpose, no thought or care put in for when they left the military for whatever reasons. For Shepard it was even worse; he had no plans to leave, seemingly wanting to make it as a career military man. Were it not for the Reaper War he’d have probably have made it too.

 But he didn’t. And here they were.

 Most who could still function physically found other forms of work; many had joined C-Sec when the Citadel still functioned as a residential and commercial structure, rather than the broken structure that hung limply in the sky above England. Others joined mercenary groups or went into pirating—any way to keep the blood pumping and their trigger fingers happy. But many were crippled by their experiences, unable to move with the same speed and skill they’d once used as easily as breathing. Now every step hurt, every motion ached, and every breath stung.

 Some readjusted. Some retired. And then others still, like Shepard, struggled against their chains until it choked them to death.

 “It’s bullshit,” he said.

 “I agree,” she replied.

 Shepard’s brows went up then, and he sent Kentworth a surprised look that slowly morphed into a wary one. “You’re just going to agree? You’re not going to try and play up the virtues of the Alliance? Tell me how I’m being ungrateful?”

 Kentworth shook her head. “No, I’m not. I agree entirely with your assessment. Those who can no longer perform to peak perfection like the Alliance wants are relegated to desk duty, or completely left out in the cold. They train you for one purpose and only one purpose, and when that is done, they have no care what you do with yourself. There are those in the system who do care—myself and Admiral Hackett, for example—but the point remains: the system abuses many. Yourself included. And for that I apologize deeply.”

 Shepard relaxed a fraction, hand no longer dug in around the pen like he was going to use it as a weapon. Anger seemed to be replaced with a deep sorrow.

“I should have let them take my leg. I’d have been discharged anyways but… fuck it.”

 She’d been curious about that. Cloning technology had come a long way and she was sure that he’d have been given the option to amputate.

 “I was meaning to ask about that decision. Were you given another option?”

 “Yeah, a few of them, actually,” he said. “I was kind of out of it for six months or so—going in and out of surgeries, put into comas, that sort of thing—so I don’t remember the actual injury. Apparently I got pinned in the rubble of the Citadel. When the rescue team found me they took the cement off my leg and… I don’t know, it was described to me as looking like someone had just run it over with a Mako six or seven times. Completely fucking mangled. If it had happened even fifty years ago I’d have lost my leg—no choice in the matter. But they managed to repair it enough that it can function, you know. Not perfectly, but it could.

“When they came to me about my options I’d been in the hospital for six months. They’d been concerned about patching up all my organs and doing skin grafts. My leg was deemed unimportant to everything else. Kaidan had made it back from to the Sol system by then so we kind of talked it over. He thought I should get it removed. I could clone it, keep it as a prosthetic—whatever I wanted to do. But he didn’t think I should keep it…”

 “And your doctors?” she asked.

 “It was split. The ones who saved it said I could function with it. And I… I wanted to keep it.” He tossed the pen on the coffee table and looked down at his knee. “I let my emotions get the better of me.”

Kentworth cocked her head to the side, a tad confused. “Could you elaborate?”

Shepard sighed heavily and ran his hands over his face. Clearing his throat he continued, albeit slower and more carefully than before, like he was picking his way over sharp, jagged rubble that could slice him open if he took one wrong step. “When I died, Cerberus brought me back. It took them two years to completely rebuild me. I remember Jacob, one of my old squad mates from back in those days, telling me that when they found my body I was nothing but a pile of meat and tubes. I was dead, ma’am. Dead in every way you can be. Miranda and her team did everything to bring me back just as I’d been before—no cutting corners, no changing anything, but… but I wonder, sometimes, how much of me is the original me, and how much they had to replace with clone materials and synthetics and cybernetics. I mean, how much of me was there in all that meat and tubing Jacob saw on the operating table?”

“And you feared that if you lost your leg you’d lose yet another piece of your original self?” she asked gently, hoping she was following correctly.

 Shepard shrugged one shoulder. “Probably… maybe. I think so. I just… I want as much of me as I possibly can. I’ve already had people question how much of me is human and how much of me is just a collection of parts, cobbled together to fill in the massive gaps left behind after I died. _I_ question it myself. Miranda offered to show me all of the data and go over the surgeries with me, but during the war she lost the Lazuras project data, and now she’s off somewhere, living her life and… I can’t bother her. Not anymore.”

 “So you kept the leg,” Kentworth said.

 Shepard nodded. “I kept the leg.”

 “Does it cause you discomfort mentally?”

 “How do you mean?”

 “When you look at it do you feel any emotions? Does it get in the way and frustrate you? Or are you comfortable with it—do you still feel like you made the right decision?”

“I dunno… some days I’m glad I kept it. Other days I just want to rip it off and start all over again. It’s… its ugly, for sure. I’ve got scars all up and down, mostly at my knee where the most work was done. I’m not vain but… I felt self-conscious about showing the scarring to Kaidan for a while. And it hurts a lot of the time—this deep ache that starts in my knee and runs up to my lower back and down to my ankle. It’s a fucking inconvenience but I just can’t chop it off. I don’t know why but I can’t get rid of it.”

 “No one says you have to, John,” Kentworth said. “It’s your body and therefore your choice. If you feel like you need to keep it then do so. However, I would urge you to try and see it in a different light. Instead of looking at the scars and finding them ugly, see them as yet another part to your very elaborate, compelling, and worthwhile journey through life. Your limp is nothing to be ashamed of, and your aches and pains will be alleviated over time. Just like the end of your Alliance career does not define you, neither does your physical disability.”

 Then Shepard said something that made Kentworth’s heart stop for just a moment.

 “Sometimes I think it would be easier if I’d just died.”

 “John, I want you to look at me,” she said slowly. Mentions of suicide—even vague references—were not something she ever, ever took lightly with her patients. She’d lost three good men to it and was not going to lose another.

 Shepard looked up at her, meeting her piercing gaze head on. “Yeah?”

 “John, have you ever felt like you wanted to take your own life?”

 “No,” he said, although unsteadily. “I’ve never thought about actively killing myself but… but, I dunno… sometimes I figure it would have been easier if I’d just been left to die like I was supposed to.”

 “Supposed to?”

 “I had no illusions about my chances of making it out of the Reaper War, ma’am. Chances were slim the galaxy was going to survive let alone myself and I… I had prepared myself for the end. I was going to see it through—I was going to win against the Reapers, but I had prepared myself to die in the process. I had… I had a sense of peace, almost. I’d been brought back to life by Cerberus for a purpose and I saw that purpose through. I stopped the Collectors, defeated the Reapers, and I knew that when I left I’d done my duty.”

 “But then you survived,” she said softly.

 Shepard nodded. “Then I survived. I woke up in a hospital bed weeks later left with me entire life ahead of me and I… I panicked. I was at peace and then… then I was back. And I don’t know what’s left for me.”

 Kentworth sighed. “John, there is plenty left for you. I know the prospect of having a future seems so small to you right now, but I promise you that there is so much to live for. You have the rest of your life ahead of you and that is a beautiful thing. You aren’t defined by your past, John. The Alliance is not your life, nor do the wars that shaped you into the man you are today any indication of who you can still become. They are not your future—your future is yours and yours alone. You just need to find what makes you passionate again. You’re only thirty-four, John—you have your entire life ahead of you.”

“I just don’t have any fucking idea what to do with myself.”

 “I can help you with that, if you’d like.”

 He shrugged. “Why not?”

 She smiled. “You could start with talking to more people other than myself and Kaidan. You should really try and get in contact with some of your other friends. They can help you fill the time. I am a firm believer in communal healing, and spending time with those important to you can help you to feel stabilized and normal once more. I might also suggest some low doses of anti-depression medication—just for a little while,” she added once Shepard looked like he was going to argue. “You worried me with your talk of death and I think at least trying out the medication for a little bit might help quell some of these thoughts. It is, of course, entirely up to you. I cannot force you.”

 “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled. That usually meant ‘no’.

 “You’re also in desperate need of a hobby,” she said.

 “What will a hobby do?”

 “Fill the time you have to think; distract you enough from the thoughts you seem stuck in. And, hopefully, in time you’ll find something new to throw your passions into. Right now you have nothing going on in your life and this isn’t helping you to move on in any way. You need to find something that will give you that spark again.”

 “Any ideas?” he asked.

 She thought a moment. Shepard needed something that could keep him both mentally and physically active—something with positive, obvious reinforcement. Something that could both keep him stimulated, but also keep his anxiety and depression from spiking and derailing his recovery.

 And then it clicked.

 “John… have you ever considered owning a dog?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but here is an extra-long chapter for you all. Finally, you learn why Shepard is so afraid of sleeping. In addition to the introduction of a new four legged companion for our ex-Commander.
> 
> Enjoy!

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in…

Breathe in?

_Oh god no._

_Please no, no not like this no no oh god oh god oh god—_

 

XX

“And then this is a photo of him with the dog bed we bought for him. It’s kind of small, though, so from time to time I let him up on the bed at night. Kaidan gets annoyed sometimes but so long as Cosmo stays on my side we’re all good.”

 Kentworth nodded along, admiring Shepard’s photos. Cosmo, Shepard’s new therapy dog, was proving to be very popular. He was a mutt, a collection of breeds pushed together through the years to create the striking black animal before her on the vid screen. With a sharp, long nose and a powerful upper body, she’d have said he looked like a Doberman Pinscher were it not for the lanky-ness of his back legs and the large, floppy ears that stuck up at odd angles as he rolled around on Shepard and Kaidan’s living room floor.

 He was, in a word, adorable.

 And the expression Shepard wore as he showed her the photos seemed to indicate he had come to the same conclusion.

 “I’m very happy he’s been working out for you, John. You got him last week, correct?”

 Shepard nodded and sat down on the couch, closing his omni-tool and locking it. “Yeah, about a week after Kaidan got home. I always kind of toyed with the idea of getting a pet, but with everything going on I just let it slip by. I had fish and a hamster, back on the Normandy, but fish and dogs are pretty much the exact opposites on the level of care you need to invest.”

“I think you’ll manage just fine,” she said, meaning it. Shepard seemed like he’d do well with a dog—it would keep him active, distract him, and offer him companionship. Shepard had, over the years it seemed, isolated himself away from much of the galaxy. Perhaps his fame and status as the ‘Saviour of the Galaxy’ had made him shy away from the public; perhaps he felt a need to retreat from a world that has demanded his complete and utter attention for so long; maybe he just didn’t enjoy people very much. Perhaps it was all three.

The only ones he let in were his old crew, and even then it seemed communication with them was few and far between. But they were with him day in and day out for years—serving on the same vessel, following his lead, and depending on his guidance and skill to see them through every battle they fought (and they fought many). But Kentworth knew that Shepard’s relationship with his crew went beyond professional comradery.

 Garrus, for one, was special to Shepard. The few times he spoke about the Turian his voice filled with a gentleness she rarely heard, a humorous lilt to his voice as he talked about some adventure they’d gotten up to, hands relaxed at his side and lips pulled into a cheeky grin.

 His relationship with a Quarian named Tali had also come up _. ‘She’s like my little sister,’ he’d said, shoulders rolling back, ‘she’s been through a lot and I feel… responsible for her. Kinda like I have to look out for her, you know?’_

Liara was explained to Shepard as one of his rocks—the person he went to when he needed tough love and honest advice; someone who never steered him wrong and honestly wanted the best for him in anything and everything. She was, Kentworth learned, one of the reasons he’d come to therapy in the first place. She’d urged him, along with Kaidan and Admiral Hackett, to seek help or _‘suffer for his stubbornness.'_

 Then there was Kaidan, perhaps the best example of how close Shepard had become to his crew, to the point of going against all Alliance and military code and developing a romantic, physical relationship with the Major. It was a clear breech of protocol and yet they had both done it, regardless of the consequences, and become completely inseparable.

 But it looked as if Kaidan was the only one who stuck around—or who Shepard _let_ stick around. The rest had all moved on; gone on to lead their own people and rebuild a damaged and frayed galaxy. Shepard had done much of the grunt work—it was time for people to take advantage of the sacrifices he’d made over the years, and let him rest.

 “Thanks for setting me up with your associate. I… wasn’t expecting a Krogan,” Shepard admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

 Kentworth smiled. “Burrum is an odd fellow, but a trusted college. He started out breeding and training varren but picked the ones he would breed based upon their mild temperament, if you would believe it. This didn’t go over well with Krogan culture, where they breed their beasts to be war assets and to help hunt. Burrum eventually found his way over to Earth and fell in love with what he calls our ‘small, fluffy varren’ and… well, now you’ve seen the benefits of his work.”

 “I’m finding it hard to imagine a mild tempered varren,” Shepard said, chuckling. “Kind of like imagining Wrex without his tendency to head-butt whatever he disagrees with.”

 Wrex was a new name. She hoped to pry a little into Shepard’s personal life once more, wanting to hear about the people he kept close. They were a key link to his personal victories and failures. They were the ones who managed to stay with a man who seemed willing to let it all go, were it not for these intimate and personal bonds.

 “Tell me a little bit about Wrex, John.”

 “He was one of the original members of the Normandy SR-1 when I got command of her,” he began. Sitting back on the couch, he stretched his knee out and got comfortable, relaxing in a way she’d come to take as a rare but good sign. “He was a Krogan merc doing a job for the Shadow Broker who wanted some low life club owner to meet an unfortunate ‘accident.’ This club owner had information I needed about Saren, so our paths crossed. He ended up joining the Normandy. I’m still not entirely certain why; he claimed one reason, but I suspected another.”

 “And what was that?” she asked.

 Shepard shrugged. “I dunno, I just got the feeling early on that Wrex cares more than he would ever let on. He talked about his family and how it was easier to get away from Krogan society than try and change it. But you could tell the way his people were being treated, and how they treated _themselves_ , really cut into him. He pretends he doesn’t care about a lot of shit, but if that were the case he’d have not fought so hard to unite his people and find a cure for the genophage. Plus, let’s just say I can kind of sense when someone’s trying to cover up what they’re really feeling because they’re afraid to show any weakness.”

 He shot Kentworth a wry smile, one she returned. He was making jokes about himself. This was also a good sign.

 “Did he serve with you for long?” she asked. She made a note of Wrex and how Shepard seemed to identify with the warlord Krogan.

 “For a time, yeah. He ended up going back to his people. I guess my pushing over the years finally worked. He started to rethink policy of just letting the Krogan do what they do best.”

 “And what is that?”

 “Run so hot they self-combust.”

Again, Kentworth noted a hint of self-identification in the way he said it.

 “Wrex sounds very personal to you. Do you feel a connection to the Krogan? Perhaps some sort of identification to their way of thinking?” she asked gently, curious.

 Shepard mulled it over for a moment, hands pressed tight together and gaze headed out the window and into the horizon. “A little, yeah…” he said slowly. “All they know is violence, you know? All they think they’re good at is fighting. It’s all they know. But you talk to them—really talk to them—and they all just want what everyone else does. They want safety and security, a family, a sense of belonging… someone to bond with and come home to… someone to fight for. And… yeah, maybe I can connect to that.”

 “Do you still feel like all you’re good at is fighting?” she asked.

 “Sometimes, yeah. It’s all I’ve known. I grew up on the streets where you fight every fucking day to stay alive. Then I get into the Alliance and again, every day it’s a fight to be the best. I’ve been fighting since I was a kid. It’s… hard to change your mentality after spending your entire life doing one thing.”

 “But Wrex did, didn’t he? He went back to his home, united his people, found a cure for his people, and now he’s living a life he and many other Krogan thought impossible. Latest news from their system indicates that the Krogan are rebuilding in previously unimaginable ways. They’re regaining their dignity—their sense of self and worth. They now have a future.”

 “And you’re now going to tell me that I can do the same, yeah? Save it for today; I’m not really in the mood for a pep talk,” Shepard interrupted. He shot Kentworth a blank, almost unimpressed look. Like she’d just sat him down at the age of thirty-four and tried to explain something so fundamentally innate that it was almost patronizing.

 A part of her wanted to tell Shepard that she’d had to spell the obvious out for him before, but it was a petty, cruel thing to do. Instead she brushed it aside as she’d done with many other looks, insults, and jabs. Her ego was not a fragile thing—not anymore. 

 Kentworth shrugged. “Well now I don’t have to it seems. Clearly you already knew all this.”

 Shepard’s expression changed. Evidently she’d not schooled her face because he was beginning to look guilty. Sighing heavily he sat back and ran a hand over his face.

 “Sorry, ma’am, that was uncalled for.”

 “Don’t apologize, John. I’ve had worse reactions from some of my other patients. You’ve been remarkably amiable toward some of my suggestions, in fact.” It was true. Shepard worked hard to improve himself, just like he worked hard at everything else in his life. Once he set his mind to something he was like a dog working on a bone. Try and grab it from him and he was liable to bite your hand off.

 Or at least give you a nip.

 “No, it was rude of me,” he said. “You’re right—I can rebuild my life. I already am, right?” He smiled tightly, hesitancy in his gaze as he said it.

 “You are, John—of course you are. You have your own home, a partner, and now you’ve got a dog. These are all things that help ground you and keep you focused. They are also good reminders of the fact that you are improving; that your life isn’t set in stone.”

 He nodded and sat forward again, knee curling in slowly so he could rest his elbows on top. He hunched over himself, but he didn’t look any smaller. Shepard was too tall and broad a man to ever look small, and his personality filled in the gaps.

 “Anyway… Wrex is a good friend. He gave me a lot of advice, never put up with my bullshit, and was just your typical hard-ass soldier. Maybe I related to him because I wanted to be like him in a way; an unflinching, unapologetic warrior with no regrets, no hesitation, and no qualms about getting the job done.”

 “You don’t see yourself like that?”

  Shepard shrugged and flicked a piece of invisible lint off his knee. “I know I look that way to a lot of people, probably because I wanted them to see me that way, but… some of the calls I’ve made weren’t done easily. I made them and I did what had to be done, but I hung on to them for a while. I still hang onto some. I never tell anyone about them because… shit, I don’t know, but there’s things I’ve had to do that still sits uneasy with me. You know, the tough calls all leaders have to make? Ones you know were right decisions but will never _feel_ right. It just kind of sits in your gut like a stone or something, all heavy and hard, pressing on you in the dead of night when you’re trying to rest, making you feel guilty and torn up… shit like that.”

 Some days, Shepard clamped up tight as a clam. Other days, like today, he unfurled like an old, abused book, the spine broken and the pages folded and creased, omissions made with hard black ink and corrections, harsh and red, scribbled in the margins.

 “John, would you care to talk about one of these calls that seem to trouble you?”

 He didn’t say anything for a long while. He sat there, still hunched over, staring down at the table before them with its whorls and swirls of deep brown woodgrain. She waited patiently, but slowly began to realize he wasn’t going to come out of this thought on his own.

 “John,” she said, as gently but as firmly as she could manage.

 Shepard’s gaze lifted from the table quickly, and she saw the flash of something in his eyes—grief, guilt, frustration—whatever it was, she hadn’t had time to figure it out before it was gone, brushed away and replaced with a familiar guarded stare.

 “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat of something.

 “It’s alright.”

 “You asked me about a tough call, yeah?” he said, voice tight, like a memory was lodged in his throat.

 She nodded. If this had been a casual conversation she’d have told him to forget it—it wasn’t worth whatever pain he was re-experiencing. But this wasn’t a normal conversation. Kentworth was his doctor and Shepard was her patient. She needed to get him to open up—lance the wound and let it all out. She had to push her patients in uncomfortable directions and to keep them there until they exorcized whatever it was that was eating them from the inside out.

 “I had to make a decision between two people during the mission against Saren and Sovereign years ago,” he began, voice tight but smooth. “Someone was getting left behind on Virmire and it was my call who. That’s still one of the hardest choices I had to make as a leader.”

 Whatever he’d been thinking about before wasn’t this. Yes, this was a tough call, but the ease at which he spoke of it told Kentworth he’d come to terms with the choice long ago. Whatever he had been re-experiencing as he stared down at the coffee table was raw and painful and ugly, and something he was terrified of confronting. She knew it now—the expression in his gaze. It wasn’t just grief or guilt—it was fear. A fear of what, she couldn’t say, but it hung on Shepard like a ragged cloak and a heavy crown.

 “Tell me what happened on Virmire,” she said, deciding to be merciful and let him discuss whatever it was he wanted to talk about _. Let him think I don’t know there is more going on—the poor lad looked sick with fear._

 “It was near the end of our crusade against Saren,” he began, easing into the recollection, relief evident on his face. “We’d been following his lackeys around the galaxy, always one step behind whatever he had planned. Sometimes it felt like we were chasing a ghost, you know? Following the path of someone who’d been there centuries before we were. But then we got to Virmire. It was a fucking cock-up from the start. The Council had sent in some Salarian STGs to scope out this experimental facility owned by Saren. Turned out they were trying to manufacture an army of Krogan. Instead of informing us, they just asked for back-up—not telling the Alliance what was really going on. So we show up—just me and my crew; Liara, Wrex, Garrus, Tali, Kaidan, and Ashley.”

 Kentworth had read about an Ashley in the Alliance files sent to her. One of the original Normandy crew members; recruited on the fateful mission to Eden Prime after she’d lost her entire platoon to the geth. Kentworth had a few men and women come into her office after Eden Prime, their encounters with the geth rattling their constitutions enough that they sought her help. From what she’d been told, they were lucky to get out alive. Ashley, Kentworth assumed, must have been one hell of a soldier to not only survive, but garner the attention of the increasingly famous Commander.

 And she must have also have been the one to be left behind.

 “Ash was… Ash was special to a lot of people,” Shepard continued. “She was a brilliant soldier—got the job done, never asked too many questions, and when she fell out of line she’d snap right back in without hesitation. She followed orders, did her job, never complained. But I was harsh with her.”

 “Harsh how?” she asked.

 “When she did ask questions I was impatient. She wasn’t originally supposed to be on my dossier—she’d been added on later—so when she questioned my methods, I took it as a slight against me. Here was this soldier who I’d only worked with once under uncertain circumstances, questioning why I was letting aliens on board and why I was allowing the Rachni to live. I took it personally, which was… it was a rookie mistake.”

 “So you didn’t get along well with her,” Kentworth said.

 “On a personal level? Not really, no. But when she went out on the field I knew I could count on her. I may not have agreed with her views, but she was a competent soldier. She did her job well. And although I didn’t get along with her, the rest of the crew did. She’d been wary of aliens when she first arrived but slowly warmed up to the crew I’d cobbled together. And Kaidan was fond of her. I’d catch them talking late at night over mugs of shit Alliance-issued coffee, heads bent over like they were conspiring or something.” He smiled, fondness in it.

 “Were they together?” she asked.

 “Romantically?” Shepard held back a laugh. “No, not at all. I had a strict no-fraternization rule on all my ships—up until the Reaper War, that is. But no, even if I didn’t have those regulations they weren’t ever interested like that. She was kind of like his sister, in a way. Bugging him, teasing him—making him feel like a human and not a ‘freak’, as Kaidan had sometimes called himself.”

 “And so she came with you to Virmire?”

 “The whole crew did. We were sent to investigate the muddled message we’d received from the task force already on the planet. They’d scoped the research facility out and devised a way to get rid of it, but desperately needed backup. Of course, because we didn’t get the full message, the Council just sent us—a team of seven. Not even a platoon. ” He paused, mulling something over before plunging forward. “The head of the Salarians was a Captain by the name of Kirrahe. He was a tough son-of-a-bitch who knew the risks but never balked at the sight of them. He knew the score and so did his men; if we wanted to destroy the base and make a dent in Saren’s power, we had to pull off the impossible. He and I both knew a lot of good men and women were going to die that day.”

 “But you were all prepared to make it happen? Did this feel a bit like Torfan to you?”

 Shepard shook his head. “We had the manpower for Torfan but half the skill. I was inexperienced and stressed out of my fucking mind at Torfan. At Virmire I had a purpose, and with that purpose came a sense of… calm, almost. If that makes sense?”

 “It does. You had a goal, and you knew the risks. Sometimes impossible odds can make a person feel invincible in a way. You also seemed to have developed the necessary confidence in both yourself, as well as your crew.”

 “Yeah, I guess. I had confidence in them. Maybe too much, because then Ashley and Kaidan did something so _fucking_ stupid.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “Oh?”

 “They volunteered when Kirrahe said he needed support. See, his big plan was to detonate a nuke on the facility. He was going to lead a troop through the most heavily fortified sections of the facility to clear a path for the bomb, in addition to serving as a distraction. It was risky, a lot would die, but he was willing to do it and, frankly, I couldn’t see any other way. Meanwhile I was to go in with a small force and clear the AA guns so the Normandy could come in and drop off the bomb. But Kirrahe needed two of my men—one to go with him, the other to go with the bomb. And Kaidan and Ashley volunteered. Didn’t even let me pick—just stuck their fucking hands up, completely undermining my authority.”

 “Did you not trust them?” she asked, a bit taken aback by how angry Shepard seemed after all these years.

 “I trusted them implicitly, but they still stepped in when it wasn’t their place. I felt like some of my control had been stripped in a way. I was being told what to do by Kirrahe after being sent on this suicide mission by the Council, and then two of my best soldiers just throw themselves to the varren. I had no control… or, at least, I thought I didn’t.”

 Shepard really did not like not being in control. Many soldiers didn’t. Loss of control meant their safety harness was off and they were free falling. Men like Shepard floundered when they were out of their element—when they couldn’t call the shots or make the choices they wanted to make. It scared them, in a way. It represented insanity to them, that loss of control. It was complete and utter chaos for them.

 “Doesn’t matter now, though,” Shepard continued, “They volunteered so I sent them; I had no choice. Kaidan went with the bomb, Ashley with STG.”

 “And that was the hard choice you had to make?”

 Shepard shook his head quickly. “No. I wish it was, but no… things were going fine for a while. Ashley and Kirrahe had cleared the path and we’d disabled the AA guns. The Normandy came in, made her drop, and Kaidan had started to set up the bomb when we got word that the STG unit was in trouble. Saren had arrived, and with him a pile of geth. So I grab my guys and we start heading toward where Ashley is when I see it—this giant geth dreadnaught making a drop right over the bomb. Right over where Kaidan was.”

 “And so you had two options? Go to Ashley and leave Kaidan, or go to Kaidan and leave Ashley.”

 “Yeah… that about sums it up,” he said. He rubbed his eyes, fingers pressing in tight before releasing. “I knew that if I left Ashley, she and the entire STG unit would be overrun. Kirrahe and his men were doomed. But if I left Kaidan, the bomb was in danger—everything we worked for would be in vain. Eventually I went with my training. In the military, you go for the higher ranking officer—they matter more, in the long run. It’s harsh and cold to think that way, I guess, but… it’s just how it goes. Kaidan was a lieutenant and Ashley was just a Gunnery Chief. The choice was clear. ”

 “And this was the reason you chose who you did? There was nothing personal in it?” Kentworth asked.

 “No. Kaidan and I, we were… we were close, but not intimate. I know for certain it had nothing to do with my choice. It was a tough fucking call and I struggled with it afterward. Kaidan did, too. Survivor’s guilt, perhaps, but I’m not sure. He kept asking me for an explanation, not satisfied with the one I gave. I guess he thought maybe he should have been left behind protecting the bomb. But I needed him more—he was more important to the mission, to the Alliance… and to me. I couldn’t tell him that, of course. He’s a self-sacrificing prick sometimes.”

 He said it with fondness, making Kentworth smile. But the mirth in his voice left soon as it came, and once again he was brooding, sifting through his own thoughts, attention leaving her and going down to his interlocked hands.

“Ashely was the second to die from the original Normandy’s crew,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her, “And I think I was the last.”

 Kentworth had met with some men and women who had technically died before. Their hearts stopped in the middle of the field, only to be revived a few seconds later, quick thinking soldiers or medics pulling them back from the brink. But she had never worked with someone who had really, truly _died_. She’d read the reports and found it hard to believe. She came from a scientific background and what had happened to Shepard technically shouldn’t have even been possible. Technology had come a long way since their days on Earth, but still, there was something almost fantastical about the entire thing.

 It also left Kentworth at quite a loss as to what to do. Shepard had died and been dead for a long time. She’d no idea how long it took for his body to be recovered, but even then it must have taken months—maybe even a year—to make what was once a lifeless body breathe again. How does the mind come back from that? Is there anything after you die, or was it all just a fabrication of the greater religions of the galaxy? Are all the thoughts, memories, ideas and desires simply rebuilt, or did Shepard’s mind hold on to it?And if his mind did, then did that mean there was some other dimension? A heaven or a hell? Purgatory?

 The mind boggled. She wanted to ask him everything and more but knew she couldn’t. She could barely wrap her mind around it and she was an outside observer, removed from it. This was Shepard she was speaking to—a man already greatly troubled by all the events in his life. To pry into the meaning of life could open old wounds he’d kept stitched together for a reason.

 Still.

 He never received any help after he was brought back—no explanations, no counselling, no time to process it and to grieve for his own loss. He’d just been thrown back into the fray and told to save the world, no doubt compounding the trauma he’d already experienced.

 No wonder Shepard found it hard to talk. She’d have issues sorting out all of her troubles if she’d suffered half of the things he experienced.

 “Have you ever spoken to anyone about your death? Or did anyone ever explain to you what happened?” she asked softly, testing the waters.

 “Not really…” he said, still looking down at his hands. “I never had the time after I was brought back. Maybe I didn’t want to know or maybe I didn’t need to know, but… I never asked, and no one ever asked me. It’s not really something you just bring up in casual conversation, you know? Besides, maybe it made it easier to deal with if I didn’t say anything about it. Kind of like, if I don’t talk about it, it will make it not real… or something.”

 “Did you want to talk about it?”

 Shepard shrugged. “I tried to tell Kaidan about it, a few nights after I was released from the hospital after my third knee surgery. It got harder to explain how it feels to die alone and I… I just stopped. He didn’t ask me to continue and I didn’t want to.”

 “You don’t have to talk about it now, John, and I dare say I don’t know what words of comfort I can offer other than the knowledge that what happened to you is in the past, but you can speak about it if you’d like. Perhaps going over the events will solidify things in your mind, which might make things less frightening.”

 “Kind of like when you’re a kid and you’re scared of whatever is under the bed, until you look under it and find there is nothing there?” he asked.

 “In a way, yes. But this is entirely up to you. If you’d like to talk, I’m here to listen.”

 Shepard took a deep breath in and held it for a moment, before slowly exhaling through his nose. He kept his hands locked together and continued to look down at them and not up at her, doing his best to avoid eye contact. “I can try,” he finally said.

 She nodded and sat back in her chair, leaving her pen on the datapad on her lap. She had the old accident report in his file, but wanted to hear what he had to say.

 “We were scanning for geth,” he said, slow and careful deliberation in his words. “It was just a fool errand—useless missions to keep us busy while the Council covered up all signs of Sovereign and the Reaper threat. We’d been searching this one area, sending out signals and getting nothing back, when something showed up. I wasn’t in the cockpit when the first hit came, but immediately I knew it was bad. Joker—”

 He stumbled then, brows furrowing together and jaw clenching. Just as she was about to ask if he was okay he was speaking again, picking himself up and continuing, this time with a deliberate change of topic.

 “When the Normandy got hit you could hear it more than you could feel it. It was like the ship let out a _scream_. The Collector’s lasers cut through the metal like she was made of hot butter—like she wasn’t the best damn ship in the Alliance navy; like she’d not led the charge against Sovereign just months before. The warning sirens and lights came on and… I don’t remember what I did. I just know I tried to stop her from coming down around us. The guts of the Normandy were hanging all around me, and there were sparks and fires burning hot enough to melt through my armour. But I kept trying to fix her. I thought… I thought I could save her. But then Liara came. She told me… she told me something but I kept yelling at her to go. I could die on the ship but I wouldn’t see my crew go down with her. Not again—not after Torfan and Virmire…

 “She left. Finally. Got in the second to last escape pod while I went to the front and… and I remember stepping out on to the deck only to see the Normandy was ripped open. I couldn’t move then. All I could do was look up and out into the sky, the metal beams and rigging of the Normandy scattered all around me, floating, suspended like we were underwater. I could see the planet next to us and then, out in the distance, was the Collector ship, coming round to make the final blow. It was in that moment that I knew she was done. The Normandy SR-1 wasn’t going to be saved—she was dying all around me and I couldn’t stop it. I had no control.”

 He stopped talking. He wasn’t even moving. Still as a statue, he stared down at the palms of his hands as they sat on his lap, forgotten in the fog of recollection.

 “John… why did you go to the front of the ship? Why didn’t you leave with Liara?”

 He blinked and then cleared his throat. “I had to get someone. He refused to leave so I had to take him to the escape pod.”

 “Was this the pilot? Jeff—”

 “Don’t.” His voice broke through the stillness of the room like a gun going off in a metal room. He looked up at her, eyes like flint as they stared deep into her. She stared back, unflinching. “If you want me to stay in this office, do not ask me about him.”

 She nodded. “Alright, I won’t ask,” she said.

_I’ll ask again in a few weeks._

He nodded slowly and looked away again, gaze dropping back down to his hands as he continued his memory.

“I got him to the escape pod, dragging him over the bodies of the navigators on the way. Just as I was about to climb in after him, the Collectors hit again. They ripped through the gravity systems and I got dragged away from the door. I knew in that moment I wasn’t getting in. I was going down with my ship. So I pressed the button to the pod and then let go—drifted out of the wreckage of the Normandy as she started to head down toward the planet we were next to.” He stopped speaking again, eyes looking at Kentworth but not really seeing her. “For a few seconds—just a few brilliant, blindingly beautiful seconds—I felt… I felt _free_. I was floating in the stars, their brightness surrounding me as I drifted, completely unrestricted from _everything_. I was at _peace_... But then… then I ran out of oxygen. Took a breath out and then couldn’t take another one… I… I…”

 He grunted, clearing his throat, and turned his hands around, clenched his fingers together to make tight fists. “Then I died.”

 Kentworth couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be even remotely appropriate. In all her years as a psychiatrist, with all of the horrible, soul breaking things she’d heard, nothing came close to what she’d just been told.

 “Is this all you remember?” she asked gently.

 “The last thing I remember was ripping my fingernails off on my helmet as I tried to take it off. Then it was dark and then there was nothing. There was no bright white light or burning brimstone; no heaven or hell. It was just like falling asleep…”

 And there it was. The reason Shepard was afraid to sleep.

 He was re-experiencing his death anytime he closed his eyes.

 “John, I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

Shepard seemed puzzled by the comment for a moment before what she’d said sunk in, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he said.

 “I honestly think speaking to Ms. Lawson would help you come to terms with what happened, John. I believe some closure can be gained by having her explain to you how she brought you back. What pieces of you were rebuilt, how they were rebuilt, and what was changed—if anything. I might also suggest you go see another colleague of mine who specializes in grief counselling. She’s an Asari, and they have a different philosophy about death that may help you.”

 Shepard nodded. He was done talking and listening. Honestly, she didn’t blame him. She felt like she had done him a disservice today—ripped off the bandage when the wound wasn’t quiet healed. But sometimes you had to expose the hurt to make it go away.

 “Is Kaidan waiting for you today?” she asked. She didn’t want to send him home alone like this—even if he now had Cosmo.

 Shepard nodded again. “Yeah, he should be out there.”

 She stood and Shepard followed, cane in his grasp.

 “Please remember to write in your journal and take your anxiety medication,” she said. “I think it would be good for you to do something enjoyable tonight as well. Take your mind off of everything for a little while. You’ve done well today,” They reached the lobby. “And finally—may I speak to Kaidan?”

 Kaidan heard her and looked up from his omni-tool, his brow quirked. They’d spoken a few times, Shepard introducing them, but it had always been brief and informal, no more than a few words exchanged before Shepard hurried Kaidan out and away from the office.

 “Uh, sure? Do you mind, K?”

“No, not at all,” Kaidan replied. Standing, he followed Kentworth to the end of the hallway, a short distance away from where Shepard stood in the middle of the lobby, back straight and gaze fixed on the wall in front of him.

 “Is everything okay?” Kaidan asked, obvious concern leaking into his voice as he looked from Kentworth to Shepard and then back again.

 “Things are fine so don’t worry yourself, dear. I just thought you should know that today’s session was a particularly rough one, and John has dredged up some memories he’s been trying to repress for quite a while now. I don’t want him to leave yet, but he’s exhausted himself and you know as well as I do that he’s not going to stick around if he doesn’t want to.”

 Kaidan nodded. She’d told him not to worry but she could see he already was, brows pressed tight together, lines marring his handsome features. He was much too young to have greys but there they were, right on his temples, flecks of white in jet black hair. She suspected John was right when he said Kaidan was a worrier.

 “Is there anything I should do?” he asked. “Anything I _can_ do?”

 “Just spent some time with him tonight—keep things light and upbeat. He should spend some time with Cosmo as well. It might be good to keep him close so John can be soothed by his presence. It is, after all, the reason you have him.”

 Kaidan nodded, brows still furrowed. “Anything else?”

 There were many other things she wanted to tell Kaidan, but strict patient-doctor confidentiality had her bound and gagged. Even though she knew John trusted Kaidan implicitly, she couldn’t tell him what they discussed unless John gave explicit consent. Pursing her lips, she chewed over how best to discuss what she’d discovered without actually discussing what she just discovered.

 “I believe I found out why he sleeps so poorly,” she finally said.

 “Yeah, he’s uh… he’s got pretty bad night terrors.”

 She nodded. “I thought as much. Tonight might be a rough night. Just continue doing what you normally do in those situations. Meanwhile, please help me to convince him to contact one of his old comrades—a Ms. Miranda Lawson. You’ve no doubt heard about her?”

“Yeah, met her a few times. You think she can help?”

 “She can’t hurt,” Kentworth replied. “I’ll see him in a few days. If things get difficult you know you can call me at any time.”

 “Thank you, doctor.”

 She patted his arm and shooed him off to take Shepard away. She waited until they had left the lobby before she sat down on one of the chairs and pinched the bridge of her nose tightly. It had been a long while since she’d been confronted with something she didn’t know how to heal, and even longer still since she’d felt so utterly lost on what to do. The Asari colleague she had mentioned might be able to help, but even then it wasn’t a sure thing. Death, mortality, the taking of lives—these were all common themes in a soldier’s life. But dying and being brought back months—no, _years_ —later? And re-experiencing that death whenever you tried to sleep?

_What a fucking load of shit this is._

 “Mrs. Kentworth?” Helen’s concerned voice drifted from behind her desk, followed by the soft tap of heels against tile floor. “Are you alright?”

 Kentworth looked up at Helen and smiled tightly. “I’m fine, dear. Just a bit tired,” she said. Standing with the aid of Helen’s arm, she brushed the stray hairs from her bun behind her ears. “Do you have any plans tonight, Helen?”

 “I was just going to go home and watch some vids. Why?”

 “I feel the need for a proper scotch. Would you like to join me?”

 Helen smiled softly. “Alright.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Holidays and such-- you know the drill. But without further delay, chapter six! Hope you enjoy, and thank you once again for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! I'm so, so, so happy that this fic has struck a cord with many of you. And I hope I'm doing the subject matter justice!
> 
> Thanks to teadrunktailor for beta'ing for me!

 Shepard stared at the profile of the Drell sitting in front of him on the Kodiak, watching as the starlight from outside danced along the dips and bumps and creases of his face. Large black eyes stared out at the expanse of space through the small window, and his body rocked gently with the motions of the vehicle, legs slightly spread and hands resting gently together between them.

 Shepard would have said the pose was relaxed—unguarded, perhaps—had he not known the Drell personally.

 Thane was anything but unguarded.

 He wondered if Thane felt the same dread he did in the pit of his stomach anytime he thought about the emptiness that awaited all those who died; wondered if he was ever scared about the prospect—no, the knowledge—that he was going to die soon; wondered if suffocating to death hurt as much to a Drell as it had for him.

 “You look as if you want to ask me something.”

 Thane’s voice broke through the silence of the cabin, the low tone and soft vibrations worming into Shepard’s chest. He turned, large, dark eyes locking him in place. Shepard found it hard to read Thane’s face, his expressions alien, figuratively and literally. But he didn’t seem annoyed that Shepard had been staring.

 “It’s nothing,” he said. He sat forward and propped his chin on his hands.

 “I hope I did not worry you when I began coughing during our mission. I promise you that it does not impede my ability in any matter. Nevertheless, if you feel I am a liability I—”

 “You’re not a liability, Thane, don’t worry about it,” Shepard interrupted.

 Thane’s episode had caused Shepard and Samara some concern, but it had happened when they were clear of any danger, hunkered down on a rock as they waited for pick-up, piles of broken, shot-up mechs surrounding the landing zone. It had come as a surprise; one moment Thane was toeing through the pile of metal, plastic and wires, the next he was curled over, his sniper rifle falling from his back as he coughed hard enough to tear his throat open.

 The soft, wet gasps as he tried to breathe in were hard for Shepard to listen to, and he had to excuse himself under the guise of keeping watch while Samara helped Thane through the rest of the coughing fit.

 “Are you feeling better now?” Samara asked gently. She’d been staring out the opposite window, a silent statue next to Thane until now.

 “Yes. Thank you for your concern,” he replied. He shot her a soft smile.

 Shepard looked down at the floor of the Kodiak, trying to clear his mind, desperate to think of anything other than how Thane looked as he couldn’t breathe—how he fought to take in oxygen and clear the liquid from his lungs. How his body curled in, chest heaving, eyes wide open, neck stretched and—

 “Commander?”

 Shepard looked up from the floor to see Thane and Samara peering down at him in the darkness.

 “Are you alright?” Samara asked, her head cocked to the side.

 Shepard nodded and sat up straight. “Yeah, just tired,” he lied, “used my biotics a bit too much on that Atlas.”

 Samara nodded and went back to her stargazing, but Thane kept his eyes on Shepard a moment longer.

 “It looks far worse than it feels,” he eventually said, voice soft. “Do not trouble yourself over it.”

 Shepard nodded. Thane knew—he always fucking knew.

 “Thanks for the lie,” Shepard mumbled, and went back to trying to think of anything but his own breathing.

XX

 Shepard picked a new spot to sit that day.

 Instead of going to the couch as he’d done for the past few months, he ventured toward the chairs next to the window. It was mid-summer, and the skies above Vancouver were free from dust and clouds, the sun streaming into the large windows with no inhibitions. It was a comfortable spot and offered a peaceful, meditative place to sit and relax with a cup of tea.

Kentworth was pleasantly surprised when he sat down, his attention still half on the door but his back exposed. But she’d see how long it lasted. Sometimes her patients could only sit there for a short duration before it became to uncomfortable and they had to have something behind them, guarding their back in case of possible attack.

 “How are you feeling today?” she asked, testing the waters. She’d not spoken to him since their session three days ago. She had worried over it, but done something productive with that worry. She devised a few ways to help Shepard cope a little bit better, but needed to wait for the right moment to broach the subject.

 “Fine,” Shepard said. He was staring out the window, looking down at the streets below.

 “How did the last couple of nights go? Did you manage to get some rest?”

 Shepard shrugged and dropped his hand from his chin. Turning to look at her, he shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable. “Yeah, a little. Spent the last couple of days trying to train Cosmo to shake a paw.”

 “That seems like it would keep you busy,” Kentworth said, pleased the dog was becoming a pleasant distraction for him.

 “Whatever you told Kaidan has had him fussing over me like I’m a child, though.”

 Kentworth frowned. “I only told him that you might be a little—”

 “Crazy?”

 “John, you’re not crazy,” she said sternly. “Don’t ever think that. What you’re going through is perfectly understandable and normal given the circumstances. You’re not crazy.”

 Shepard shrugged again, as if to upend her pep-talk. “I know he fusses because he cares,” he said, ignoring her comments. “Besides, it hasn’t been all bad. The fussing, I mean.”

 “How so?” she asked.

 “Well… he wants me to be happy and comfortable. And I’m happiest when he’s happiest. So… we spend time together when he’s not at work. A lot of time together…” he trailed off, his eyes skirting down to the floor as he tried to hide the smile working its way on to his lips.

 “You mean you two have been having sex for the last few days?” she asked.

 Shepard’s sharp cheekbones became a delicate shade of pink.

 Kentworth rolled her eyes. “John, you can speak to me about your physical relationship with your partner—it’s part of your life. I’m not a mild little flower that has no clue what you’re speaking about. I’m old—I’m not senile.”

 “Sorry, ma’am, it’s just... you’re… well.” He waved his hand about, seemingly at a loss for what to say. 

 “Old like a grandmother?”

 “Well… yeah. It’s a bit… weird.”

Kentworth sighed. “I’m your therapist first and foremost. Sex and physical intimacy are part and parcel with your life. In fact, they are very important parts of your life and how you experience the world. Many veterans with PTSD struggle with having close relationships with their partners; the fact that you and Kaidan are still intimate and enjoying your time together is _important_. It is healthy and important.”

 Shepard looked up at Kentworth, nodding slowly as she finished. He fiddled with his hands, trying to decide if he should say anything. “It’s hard, sometimes… the intimacy, I mean,” he began, deciding to get over his hang-ups. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but my knee kind of fucks things up. I can’t do what I used to be able to, so we’re limited. Not that the sex is bad, but I feel like I should do more. But I can’t. I try but last time I did anything aggressive I got a fucking Charlie horse and spent the rest of the night with an ice pack on my knee.”

 “And does Kaidan mind your new limitations? Is he frustrated as you are?”

 Shepard shook his head. “No. In fact, he got really uh… proactive about it. He… read stuff. But it’s good. _He’s_ good. I mean, sex can’t always be amazing, but it’s never bad with Kaidan. We have fun together, regardless. It’s… good for stress.”

 “Do you find that it helps keep your mind occupied? That you don’t think as much about whatever is troubling you?” she asked.

 “Yeah… yeah, I think so. It’s a good distraction. I feel more… present when I’m with Kaidan. Present in the world, I mean. My mind doesn’t wander as much. Even when we’re not having sex but just talking or eating dinner or whatever—I’m with him, you know? I’m in the moment.”

Kentworth smiled, relieved to hear that. She worried sometimes, about the strain Shepard’s stress might put on his relationship with Kaidan. It wasn’t easy loving someone who was as scarred inside as Shepard was, but he had someone who seemed devoted to him despite all the hardships that kind of relationship brought. Perhaps it was because they were both soldiers and understood what each other was going through, or maybe Kaidan was just an incredibly devoted man. It was probably a combination of both, really.

 “What about sleep? Is it easier to sleep when he’s next to you?” Kentworth inquired.

 “Yeah. I actually sleep when he’s with me,” Shepard said.

 “And when he’s not?” Kentworth asked, wanting to slowly bring the conversation back to his struggles coping with his death.

 “I… don’t sleep. Not a lot. Maybe an hour—two, tops. I dunno, maybe with Cosmo around I might be able to but I haven’t tried it yet. Maybe I’ll take a nap or something.” He shrugged.

 “And why do you think you struggle with sleeping? Do you suffer night terrors?”

 “Yeah…”

 “And they are mostly centered around your death?” she asked gently.

 Shepard nodded.

 Sometimes Kentworth hated when she was right. “Do they happen every night?”

 “Yeah, pretty much. I struggle to fall asleep in the first place. I guess I think that if I close my eyes and fall asleep I won’t wake up again. Kind of as if this is all just one massive, elaborate dream my mind is making up as I die, and that when I surrender I’m not going to wake up again. I’ll truly be dead and all of this will be _gone_.” He took a steadying breath. “And when I do fall asleep I have dreams about suffocating… like I can’t breathe in my dreams.

 “Sometimes, very occasionally, I dream about the Reapers. Those I can handle. The shrill screech of a Banshee and the smell and taste of blood, the sound of the Reapers and the sight of husks climbing over walls in the hundreds; I can handle that shit because it’s… it’s got motion to it. It’s got _life_ to it. And these are things I can defeat—I can kill them in my dreams. I can _fight_. But the dying ones… the dying ones are so still. There is no life. It’s just… dark, empty nothingness that I can’t fight back against and… I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t control it.”

 He clenched his jaw tight and breathed hard through his nose, obvious frustration boiling up inside him. There was that anger again that came when he was confronted with something that he couldn’t control in his life—something he couldn’t just shoot or yell into submission. Something he couldn’t change no matter how much he tried. She’d told him time and time again that he couldn’t control everything in his life, but it seemed to do nothing for him. He was listening, but he wasn’t applying.

She made another note of it. She’d try and come up with some way to get him to relax about the rules of the universe another day. Today she’d focus on his death.

 “And this is why you’ve been so adamant against sleep medication? You fear sleeping in general—not just the night terrors they could potentially bring?”

 “That’s pretty much it,” Shepard said with a heavy sigh. “When I’m with Kaidan I use him as something to ground myself to. Like an anchor on those old ships or whatever. When I’m falling asleep I keep him close. I wrap my arms around him and steady my own breathing using his as something to match. Just touching him and knowing that he’s there, physically next to me, is… it helps. I know I’m not alone, in space, drifting into the orbit of some fucking planet as I…” He trailed off, brows furrowed as he wandered away from her. He came back eventually and continued his train of thought, his voice steadier. “When I wake up from one of my nightmares I can just go back to him. I touch him and breathe in his scent, feel the warmth of his skin and the weight of his body. I use him to remember that I’m in my own bed next to the man I love, _living_ , and I’m not in space dying. That I’m going to be _okay_.”

 It was a good method, but not perfect. He was relying on a single person—a person who couldn’t always going to be there when he needed him. If he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—sleep without Kaidan next to him, Shepard could run on very few hours of sleep a week. The implication to his health was staggering, let alone the mental exhaustion he was putting himself through. But sleep medication wouldn’t fix this; in fact, it would probably only make it worse. If he feared sleeping in the first place, putting him under through the use of medicine would only compound the issue. He wouldn’t be able to wake up even if he wanted to. He’d be trapped in the nightmare.

The only way she could see this getting any better—or, at the very least, manageable—was to have Shepard talk about it. He needed to confront of the memory of his death, no matter how uncomfortable it was for him. He needed to face his fears.

 But she couldn’t be the one to listen. Despite all of her training, Kentworth didn’t know how it felt to come that close to death. Not many people did. But she knew of others who briefly touched the void that had swallowed Shepard up and spat him back out. They hadn’t died, not like he had, and she knew she wouldn’t find anyone else who could relate to him entirely, but she could find those who understood what he’d been through better than she. Kentworth was a proponent of communal healing. The trick was to get Shepard to agree to it. The man was resistant to telling even Kentworth his issues, let alone a group of soldiers he didn’t even know. Getting him to admit to her that he had a problem had been like pulling teeth—getting him to admit that to a group? It might be impossible.

 But she had to try.

 “Did you get into contact with Ms. Lawson like I had suggested?” she asked, making a few notes on her datapad.

 “I did.”

 Kentworth’s brows shot up, and she looked up from her datapad to stare across at Shepard. “You did?”

 Shepard nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Contrary to popular belief, I do sometimes follow orders.”

 “It wasn’t an ord—never mind, I’m just glad you did as I suggested,” she said, smiling brightly. Maybe this wouldn’t be a fool’s errand. “Did you speak to her long?”

 “No, not really, but she’s coming to visit soon. She said she’d bring what files she still had and… yeah, we’d go over it together. She seemed kind of excited about it. I guess I was her most successful project so she’s kind of proud of me? In a way, I suppose.”

 “And how does her coming to visit make you feel?”

 Shepard seemed undecided about it, brows furrowing as he sunk deep into his thoughts. “Nervous,” he finally said. 

 “Why is that?” she asked.

 “Because I don’t know if what I’m going to learn will help, or just make it worse. There is something to be said for the old adage that ‘ignorance is bliss’.”

 “You don’t think it will bring you closure? Perhaps shine a light on some of the dark corners that have been haunting you?”

 “It might. It’s the only reason I’m doing this. I think, in the end, I’ll have some closure. At least, I hope I will. No more second guessing or obsessing over shit. I’ll know for certain.”

 “That’s the basic idea to it all,” Kentworth said. “I think you’ve been unable to deal with the realities of your death and rebirth because you don’t truly understand how it all works. Once you find out how, perhaps you can find some peace of mind.”

 Nodding, Shepard sunk down in his chair a little bit, slouching in a manner not typical for him. It made him look less sever, like he wasn’t just a tired old marine who spent his entire life fighting for every scrap of dignity and self-worth he could get. Now he looked like a young man relaxing in someone’s home, bad posture and jeans with holes in the knees. The only thing that ruined the image was Shepard’s constant vigilance on the door to the office.

 She would take what she could get, however. A relaxed—or a semi-relaxed—John meant he was having a good day, and good days for him were key to his recovery.

 “Might I suggest something else to you?” she queried.

 Shepard grunted out what she assumed was a yes.

 “Have you considered speaking to other soldiers who have undergone similar experiences?”

 “You mean a group therapy session?” he asked wearily.

 “Exactly.”

 Shepard sat up a little straighter and shook his head. “I’m not really one for… sharing my feelings.”

 “Not even if it were with other men and women who are in the same situation you are? They aren’t going to judge you, John. They are struggling just as you are, and there is no shame in that. I think by speaking to someone who has also come close to death, it might help you to realize that what you’re going through is normal. Hearing other peoples’ experiences can be beneficial.”

 “I have talked to others about death before,” he said, linking his hands together on his lap. “Not in a formal setting, but I’ve talked to people about what they were going through when they...” he shrugged.

 “And did it help?”

 Shepard shrugged again. “Not really? I don’t know. I spoke to Kaidan about his near death experience once but it wasn’t the same…”

 “What happened to Kaidan?” she asked. She’d never heard about this and didn’t know Kaidan had come close to dying. This could actually be useful, as horrid as the thought was. Kaidan’s trauma could help Shepard’s.

 “It was during the Reaper War. We were on a mission to Mars to get some Prothean data. There was this, uh… this robot, and she got a hold of Kaidan. Slammed his head a few times against the side of a Kodiak. He was wearing his helmet, thank god, but he got pretty fucked up. I lost my mind when it happened. I thought he was dead and… I don’t remember much of the aftermath. I just remember I shot the fuck out of the robot. I couldn’t think beyond the fucking voices in my head telling me Kaidan had just died—on _my_ watch. I just saw red.”

 The berserker mode. She had heard other soldiers suffer a similar experience. It was usually after the ‘mother’ of the unit suffered an accident or was killed. They were the ones who kept everyone together; who offered some semblance of stability and comfort in the messed up realities of war. They were the glue that held the crew together, and when they fell some soldiers lost their minds with grief. She’d even helped one man who had to be tied up by his group he had gone so blind with grief and rage. He tried to kill those around him, no longer realizing the difference between friend and foe.

 It was a terrible state of mind to be in, and Kentworth wondered if there would be anything left of Shepard had Kaidan actually died.

 “We had to get him to a hospital,” Shepard continued. “Liara stabilized him but it wasn’t enough. I remember I had all of this shit to do; the Reapers had just attacked earth, Anderson had stayed in Vancouver even though it was crawling with husks and cannibals, and we’d just been bested by Cerberus who were trying to join the Reapers. All of this was going on but all I could think about was Kaidan. I didn’t give a shit about anything else—I just had to know he’d be okay. I know it’s fucking selfish of me to say that, especially as a commander, but… god, I don’t know. I had tunnel vision.

 “But he made it through. It was touch and go and he was in a coma for a while, but he woke up and immediately started to make plans about his future. He said his ‘life flashed before his eyes’ and he saw his future—saw that he _had_ a future. He took his near-death experience and did something good afterward. He made a life for himself… and asked me out.” He smirked.

 “So his near-death experience lit a fire under his ass?” she asked, trying not to laugh at Shepard’s expression when she said ‘ass.'

 “Yeah, basically,” he replied, chuckling. “He’s always been pretty… resilient. He’s been through a lot of shit in his life but he never complains. He never makes excuses or lets what happened to him in the past dictate his future. He’s… he’s a smart guy. Strong in ways I wish I could be.”

 “You don’t think you’re strong?” she asked.

 Shepard turned to look out the windows again, attention flicking down to the people on the street. “I dunno,” he said softly. “I’m not exactly doing too well with my life right now. If I was I wouldn’t be here.”

 “Shepard, coming to therapy doesn’t—”

 “Mean I’m weak or crazy. I know, ma’am, you’ve told me this before.” Turning back to Kentworth, Shepard sent her a tense smile. “Repeatedly telling me this isn’t going to make me change my mind. I just… I need to figure this shit out slowly. I need to get everything in order—get my life in order—and then I’ll believe you. But I… I need results, you know? Real, solid results I can physically see or feel.”

 Kentworth sighed. “Fair enough. I suppose telling you that you have made improvements won’t help, either?”

 “Probably not.”

 She pursed her lips. “Alright, I’ll stop. For now. But it is my job to give you the occasional pep talk, you realize?”

 Shepard smiled—a genuine one—and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I get that. And I reserve the right to pretend I didn’t hear it, yeah?”

_Honestly, kids these days…_

 “You said you had spoken to multiple people about their experiences. Kaidan was one, but who was the other?”

 Shepard took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Straightening his back, she heard a pop followed by a grunt as he eased back down into the chair. “It was a Drell I had as part of my team back when the Normandy was a Cerberus vessel. His name was Thane Krios,” Shepard said. “He had this disease called Kepral’s syndrome—kind of like cystic fibrosis but for Drell. At least, that’s what I gathered.”

 “So his lungs filled with moisture of some sort? And he was unable to take in oxygen?” she asked.

 Shepard nodded. “Yep.”

 “So he was slowly drowning to death. He was, in essence, suffocating.”

 Shepard looked back down at the streets below. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

_Oh dear…_

“I gather there must have been some… self-identification with Mr. Krios’ plight?” Kentworth inquired gently.

 Shepard shrugged. He kept staring down at the street, distancing himself from the conversation. “Yeah, maybe.”

 “John…”

 He looked up and back at Kentworth, his brow quirked. She could tell he was trying to play it casual—act as if the disease his comrade suffered from had no effect on him—but she could tell. His ticks were coming out in full force, from the way he was trying desperately not to make eye contact, to the short, tiny motions he made with his hands, fingers tapping along the armrest and running along the back of his neck.

 “Did you find it difficult to speak to Mr. Krios about his disease? Did you not feel as if his struggles were similar to yours in any way?”

 He shrugged. “I tried not to think about it.”

 “Trying and succeeding are different things.”

 “I don’t know what you want me to say, ma’am,” he said, voice sharp with frustration, “Yeah, I saw the similarities and yeah, it was fucking hard to deal with. So I didn’t deal with it; I just pretended it didn’t exist. I had other shit to worry about and I wasn’t about to let myself be sidetracked by my own fucking death. I just—fuck, I don’t know. I pushed it aside; pretended it didn’t exist. And when Thane went through his coughing episodes I just… I just pushed it out of mind. He didn’t want to be worried about and I couldn’t—I mean, I didn’t… shit, I don’t know. I just didn’t bring it up.”

 Kentworth jotted down a few notes and time-stamps, wanting to go over the loaded answer at her own pace. Clearly it bothered him more than he was letting on.

 “You said you spoke to him about death, however. Why?”

 “I wanted to know my crew,” he said curtly. “His disease was part of that. I needed to know if he was going to be a liability.”

 “Was that the only reason?”

 Shepard did his hard stare in an attempt to get her to back down. She didn’t.

 Finally, after staring at each other for a good minute, Shepard broke away and sat back in his chair, attention returning to the window. “He was at peace with it,” he mumbled.

 “At peace with…?”

 “Death. The end of life—whatever you want to call it. He was at peace with it. It… didn’t scare him.”

 “But death scares you?”

 Shepard sighed. Blue eyes looked out across the way, peering through the cranes and scaffolding as if to find reprieve in amongst the ruins of Vancouver.

 “Yeah… guess it does,” he cleared his throat and looked back at Kentworth. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? I died once and then almost died again in the rubble of the Citadel. I’ve killed countless others and seen my friends die—die with _dignity_. And yet… death fucking terrifies me. I pretend that it doesn’t but… but it does. I’m terrified of dying again.”

 “It doesn’t sound stupid, John.”

 “But it is stupid. I can’t make my mind up about it. I keep thinking I should have just been left in the rubble of the Citadel—that I was at peace with the fact that I was going to die defeating the Reapers. I’d die a hero. But now—now I’m scared shitless by the idea. Now that I’m here I’m all fucked up because of death. I wanted it, but now I don’t. It just… fuck.”

 She saw a flare of blue surround Shepard for the briefest of moments, and was very quickly reminded of the fact that Shepard was a biotic—a powerful one at that. If he lost control he could very well cause some serious damage. 

 “John, emotions and fears and everything else in your life aren’t static things,” she said smoothly, trying to keep him calm. “They change in obvious and subtle ways and they always will. Your outlook on things will vary depending on where you are in your life—this is all very normal. You fear death because you’ve had time to think about it; really, truly think about it. Whereas before you just pushed it aside in exchange for worrying about other things, now you have the time to truly look inside yourself and confront the issues you’ve been neglecting for so long. You also have a life to _lose_ now. You have a lover, a home—a _family_. Now you have everything to lose if you pass away and this worries you.

 “The fears you have toward death aren’t at all stupid or irrational. You died and came back; you then were on the cusp of death and were at peace with that, until you were brought back from the brink a second time. If you’d come out of all of this completely normal and well-adjusted I’d be highly suspect. You’ve a complex relationship with your own morality. This is normal, John. You’re not alone. There are others like you. And I think it would be highly beneficial for you to speak to them.”

Shepard’s good leg was bouncing up and down, and she could see his temples shifting, teeth clenched hard together as he mulled over whatever was bouncing around in his head. He didn’t say anything, just sat and stared out the window.

 “John… did you hear what I said?” she asked.

  “I don’t want anyone else to know,” he said quietly.

 “How about we try it out with just one other person?”

 Shepard sighed. “Like who?”

 “We could ask Kaidan if you’d like. He’s a soldier, been through similar experiences, and already knows that you struggle. He’s familiar to you. It would also help me, as your psychiatrist, to speak to your partner—get a sense of your home life and to see you through another person’s eyes.”

 He rested his chin on his hand and squinted as the sun’s rays moved in between the beams on the exposed building next door.

 “I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

 That was all Kentworth would get with that.

 Shepard was clamping up again. He wasn’t listening to her and was focusing on everything else _but_ her. He was shutting down for the day, and sometimes you just had to accept that.

 “Well, that’s all I can ask at this point, I suppose,” Kentworth said. Standing, she went over to her desk, ignoring Shepard as he tracked her movements. “Now we’ll move on to the last thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

 Bending over and overlooking the way her back popped and groaned under the pressure, she plucked up a bag filled to the brim with knitting needles and yarn in a variety of colours—brown, red, Hanar pink and Drell green. Carrying back to Shepard, she plopped the bag down on the coffee table.

 “What’s this?” he asked, sitting forward to peer into the bag.

 “I thought I would teach you how to knit,” she said, sitting herself back down.

 Shepard looked up from the bag and stared at Kentworth like she’d grown seven heads; his brows raised high and mouth slightly slack. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

“I am completely serious,” she said, trying to mask her amusement at Shepard’s reaction. “Knitting has proven to be an effective way to help combat veterans cope with their PTSD. Now, take those blue needles sticking out beside the green yarn and I’ll show you the basics. We’ll have you making doilies in no time.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets serious, people. All of Shepard's fears, grief, and guilt come to light in this chapter. So buckle down, bring some snacks-- and if you love the Geth and EDI maybe a couple boxes of tissues.
> 
> Shout out to Teadrunktailor for the beta'ing (she's so good you guys!), and Knightofbunnies for the artwork! Because yeah! This chapter now has artwork!

 Coffee was a staple on any war ship in the Alliance.

 It kept the crew going—gave them a boost in the middle of a shift and offered them a chance to bond with their fellow Normandy crew members. The seating area next to the kitchen was always occupied, lower crewmen mingling with those up on the top, the same gripes, jokes, and well-intentioned ribbings traded back and forth. Despite the gritty, sludgy consistency of the coffee, the Normandy crew kept coming back for it, less for the taste and more for the company it created.

 Everyone drank it. It was like an initiation to the ship—a bonding experience. Any new crewmember was quickly introduced to the finer points of coffee break upon an Alliance warship.

 Shepard watched the exchange, noting that regardless of time, no matter if the crew were Alliance or Cerberus, human or alien, the coffee ritual stayed much the same. Certain groups would take their breaks together at the exact same time, sit in the exact same places, and talk about pretty much the exact same things they’d discussed the day before. It was almost like clock-work—Shepard didn’t even have to look at his omni-toll to know what the time was, he just had to stroll by on his way to see Liara or Garrus and take stock of who was there.

 Shepard, of course, had his ritual time just like everyone else.

 He’d wait until it was late, when most of the crew had gone to bed and it was only the skeleton crew and insomniacs who haunted the hallways of the Normandy, before trudging down to the mess hall with his own coffee mug in hand and a stack of datapads under his arm. He’d pour himself a cup, mostly coffee with a touch of cream and just a pinch of sugar, and find himself a seat alone at the end of one of the tables, back to the medical wing as he poured over mission reports, war causality lists, advancements and deployments, and attempt to reply to his daily stock of emails.

Sitting back in his chair with a datapad on his lap and a half completed mission report filed on it, Shepard fiddled with the handle of his mug, half the coffee gone. The hum of the Normandy and the creak of shifting metal kept him company as he overworked himself, avoiding sleep and the complexities of his own emotions in the process.

 The click of heels on metal broke him from his daze.

 Looking up from his datapad he watched as a long, slim shadow slip around the corner, followed by the delicate robotic form of the Enhanced Defence Intelligence system.

 “Hey, EDI,” he said, watching her as she observed her surroundings, an air of curiosity accompanying the way she cocked her head to the side to examine what he was doing.

 “Hello, Shepard,” she replied, a small smile gracing her features. “You are up late.”

 “And so are you.”

 “I do not require sleep. You, on the other hand, do.”

 Shepard rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. Tossing the datapad up on the table, he rubbed his eyes. “I’m not one for sleep,” he replied.

 EDI just stared at him a moment, head still cocked to the side, before she replied. “My data suggests that you sleep, on average, only two to three hours a night. Less since the start of the war with the Reapers. If you would like I could suggest a variety of medications that could help?”

 “That won’t be necessary,” Shepard said.

 “How about some human sleep techniques?”

 “No.”

 “A good book?”

“EDI.”

 “How about a boring book?”

“EDI,” Shepard said, locking her eyes with his. “I’m fine, really. Thanks for,” he waved his hand about, “being concerned for me.”

_Can AI’s feel concern?_

 She smiled again and began roaming around the kitchen area, inspecting things up close. Picking up a ladle, she bounced it against her hand gently, a small ‘ting ting ting’ accompanying the motion. Shepard tried to go back to his reports but found it hard with EDI’s exploration. She’d just ‘acquired’ the new body a week ago and had, for the most part, assimilated quite well with the crew. They all enjoyed her company, most finding her fascinating while some found her… well, attractive.

 Shepard found her attractive on an artistic level. Streamlined and built to capture the human aesthetic, the robotic form would rival anything seen in an art museum. But it had been cold before— without much feeling to it. Just something you’d see and think ‘well that’s nice’ and move on.

 But with EDI housed within, the robotic form took on a new meaning and a new feeling. She brought a being to the body—a feeling that something was housed inside that went beyond wires and tubing and programming. She seemed _alive_ , as strange as that was. And the way in which she explored the world around her was both fascinating and admirable. She genuinely seemed curious.

 Shepard, despite his initial apprehension, actually sort of enjoyed spending time with EDI.

 “What are you doing down here?” he asked as she wandered back to the table, done looking through the drawers.

 “I was curious as to the function of certain parts of the Normandy—parts I could not access when I was simply interfaced with the Normandy’s systems.”

 “So you went through the kitchen drawers?”

 “Correct. I wanted to know what was inside them.”

  “Find anything interesting?” he asked.

 “Nothing of note, I believe. Just the usual kitchen utensils, pots, pans, and what my preliminary search informs me is a twentieth century German military hand grenade.”

 Shepard stared up at her, unblinking. “A… grenade?”

 She blinked—one, twice—then smiled. “Further searches in my database indicate to me that the term ‘potato masher’ is used for both the kitchen utensil and the hand grenade.”

 Shepard chuckled. “Yeah, okay, that makes more sense.”

 She nodded and continued to stand across from him, hands behind her back as she studied whatever new information she had gathered inside her mind—or tubes and wires. Whatever was going on in her head.

 “Did you want to take a seat?” he asked, finding it a tad unnerving to have someone—anyone—looming over him.

 “I do not wish to interrupt your reports, Shepard.”

 “You’re not bothering me by sitting down. Come and have a coffee break with me.”

 She reached out and pulled out the chair across from him before seating herself elegantly, long legs crossed and delicate hands folded gently on top of the table. Taking his mug, Shepard pushed it across the table toward her, her hands grasping it awkwardly for a moment until she worked out how to hold it.

 “I do not need sustenance as you do, Shepard. I do not understand why you are giving this to me,” she said, and Shepard swore he could hear a slightly patronizing lilt to her voice.

 “You don’t have to drink it,” he explained, “just sit here with me and hold it. You’ll fit in.”

 “Fit in?”

 “You know… look like you’re part of the crew. It’s kind of a bonding experience for the crew to sit here and have a cup of coffee with everyone else. Think of it as part of the initiation to the Normandy,” he said with a lopsided grin.

 EDI seemed to brighten at that, and sat a little firmer with the mug, fingers wrapped around the cup with assurance. “I like that idea, Shepard. I was already regarded as a part of the Normandy before, but only now, with my additional form, do I feel as if many are regarding me as ‘part of the crew’.”

 “That’s good to hear, EDI. I’m glad you’re transitioning smoothly into the swing of things down here on ground level,” Shepard said.

 Honestly, he was glad that she was fitting in. She’d been a part of the Normandy for so long that Shepard found it hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there, her smooth, consistently even voice floating through the ship, directing them when human weaknesses lead them astray.

 “You’re a vital part of the team, EDI. I’m glad to have you aboard,” he said, going back to his reports.

 EDI smiled. “Thank you, Shepard. I am proud to serve with you.”

XX

   
  


 Shepard was progressing relatively well, Kentworth thought.

 She’d spent the last few sessions going over some older issues, digging up some things from past sessions to see how he was coping with them. His triggers had also been a key focus, Kentworth working with him to identify them and coming up with ways in which to manage when exposed to them. His issues with death were still of lengthy discussion, but she’d backed off for a time, wanting to wait until he’d spoken to Miranda before dredging up further worries and insecurities.

 The knitting had progressed the furthest. Despite his initial misgivings, Shepard had taken to the art well, throwing himself into his projects with the intensity she’d come to expect from an experienced marine. When he set out to be the best, he made sure he accomplished that goal.

 Cosmo had also been doing wonders; Shepard admitted he’d managed a nap in the middle of the day with Cosmo beside him on the floor next to the couch. Instead of waking from a nightmare, Shepard had woken to a wet nose snuffling around, looking for treats. He’d also been going on longer and longer walks, stretching his knee out and strengthening the muscles.

 Sometimes he overdid it, however.

 “It was worth it,” Shepard said from his position on the couch. He was lying down, leg stretched out on the plush leather, his head cradled by one of her throw pillows.

 He’d come in limping badly, his cane doing little to keep him upright, so much so that Kaidan walked him in and helped him to sit down.

 _‘It’s nothing,’_ he’d said, earning himself almost identical looks of disapproval from Kentworth and Kaidan.

 “How long did you walk for?” she asked, turning on the recorder.

 “Couple of hours?” he said, sounding unsure. “I wanted to make it to the beach and it was an amazing day. I didn’t really feel the ache until I got home sometime around seven.”

 “In the evening?” she asked, brows raised.

 “Yeah. Just in time for dinner—which was fantastic, by the way, because Kaidan cooked steak.”

“So you went for a very long walk,” she said, ignoring Shepard’s attempts at trying to change the topic by discussing steak. “That’s good, but you should remember you do have limits, John. You might not like them, but they are there.” She was pleased he was making such good progress and was willing to push his limits, but she needed him to remember that limits should only be pushed so far. She didn’t want the poor lad completely incapacitated.

 Shepard grunted in response. Shifting, he turned on to his side so he could look at Kentworth. He seemed to be wrestling with something, as if he was unsure if he should say whatever it was, before charging forward. “Is it possible to knit a sweater?”

 “Of course it is.”

 “I mean a sweater for a dog.”

Kentworth tried very hard not to smile too much at the innocent question. “You want to make a sweater for Cosmo?”

 Shepard shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah… maybe. I mean, it’s going to be fall soon and Cosmo has short hair. Vancouver doesn’t get snow but it does get cold here… I just don’t want my dog to freeze.”

 “I’m sure we could find a pattern on the extranet if we looked.”

 Shepard smiled then, his features softening. He looked almost boyish then, lying on the couch with a glint in his eye. He looked innocent—free from his ghosts, if just for a moment.

 She hated to ruin it, but she had to. He wasn’t here to bottle things up…

 But the good mood he was in could be used to her advantage. She had avoided asking specific questions for some time, not wanting to scare Shepard away by delving right into the more difficult issues before he completely trusted her. His opening up about his death had been a monumental step forward in developing their professional relationship, but what had really helped it along were the small results Shepard was seeing from his sessions.

 Slowly but surely Shepard’s life was improving, and she knew he was starting to believe that. It wasn’t just a pipe dream anymore.

 Kentworth watched as Shepard sat up, back pressed against the armrest, his leg still stretched out in front of him. Rubbing his knee, he grimaced as he pressed his thumb into what she assumed was a knot.

 “So what did you want to talk about today, ma’am?” he asked, biting his bottom lip as he pushed on another muscle.

 “I thought perhaps we could speak about the Reaper War,” she said softly.

 Shepard’s hand relaxed around his knee but the tension in his back and shoulders was palpable. He was trying to act casual, like what she’d just ask didn’t affect him in the slightest, but she could see how uncomfortable he had become. The casual smile was gone and the twinkle in his eyes had fizzled out, shadows once again dulling the brilliant blue tones.

 “What’s there to talk about?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light but failing. “It was a pretty standard war at the end of it all, wasn’t it? There was a clear good versus evil going on—no shades of grey. Made things a hell of a lot easier.”

 “How do you mean?”

 “I mean: I didn’t have to worry if I was shooting someone’s father or sibling or wife. The Reapers were soulless killing machines, and their minions might have been alien or humans once, but they were just shells by the end of it all. I didn’t feel remorse for killing them. When you fight other people, that’s when you question yourself. But they weren’t people.”

 “Did you question yourself often before? Like during the Blitz?”

 Shepard shrugged. Sitting up further, he went back to rubbing his knee, talking through the pain, obviously trying to keep himself grounded. “Yeah, I did some second guessing at the time. Batarians might be a society built on slavery and barbarism, but they were still… human. They had friends, families, lives they wanted to live. They wanted to be on those godforsaken battlefields about as much as I did in the end. When you think about it too much it becomes hard to remove yourself from the task at hand. So I just stopped thinking about it.”

 “Surely the Reaper War wasn’t as easy as you make it out to be. The stresses it put you under, the futility of it all, not to mention the people you lost throughout—these all no doubt had an effect on you.”

 “Sure it did. What’s your point?” he asked gruffly.

 “You don’t think what you experienced has any bearing on what you’ve been going through the last two years?” she asked.

 Shepard shrugged. “Yeah, probably. But I’m dealing with it.”

 “But you aren’t dealing with it, John. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.”

He didn’t say anything. He just kept staring down at his knee, working the muscles with little enthusiasm. He wasn’t leaving, however. She took this as a good sign.

 “Why don’t you tell me about Admiral Anderson,” she said.

 Shepard’s hands stilled. He didn’t say anything for some time, just sat hunched over; as if he were locked in time, everything about him perfectly still save for gentle rise and fall of his chest. When he spoke his voice was quiet, certainty in what he was saying. “Anderson was a good soldier, but he was an incredible man. Without him I wouldn’t be where I am today… without him I don’t think any of us would be. We owe more to him than anyone will ever know.”

 “I don’t doubt it. I met him once, but I wish I had gotten the chance to know him better.”

 Shepard nodded. “He left an impression, that’s for sure. You know, he was the first CO I ever had who never brought up my past? All my previous CO’s liked to make a point of my upbringing—how I was just some low-life street kid who just happened to be competent. Like I didn’t work fucking hard to get where I was. They do it to break you down and weed out the weak, I get that, but Anderson never resorted to those kinds of cheap tactics. He didn’t care where you came from or what you’d done; he just treated you with the respect you earned. He… he made the Alliance what it was. He was a _true_ soldier.”

 “Sounds like you looked up to him a great deal.”

 “I did. I still do. Just because he’s passed on doesn’t mean he’s gone—that all the changes he made to my life mean nothing now.” He smiled slightly. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking ‘what would Anderson do’ when I’m unsure of something… it usually works, too. As soon as I think about it I immediately feel a bit better.”

 Sighing, he sat back and stared down at his knee, not really seeing it. Kentworth studied his profile, from the wrinkles over his brows to sharpness of his nose and the curve of his bottom lip. The boyishness was gone. He looked worn and tired once more.

 “I miss him…” he mumbled, more to himself than to her. “I miss him every day. But I can handle the ache. He was at peace with it when it happened, and that… that makes _me_ at peace with it. He died saving the fucking galaxy—you can’t ask for a better hero’s end then that even if you tried.”

 Kentworth attended his state funeral. They’d found his body in the rubble of the Citadel a short while after finding Shepard. There had been hope that if Shepard survived then Anderson stood a chance, but it was a hard day for all involved when they’d found him, lifeless and unresponsive. Plans were made almost immediately to see his body to rest, everyone needing closure as soon as possible. The funeral was held a few months afterward, but those closest to him saw him off shortly after he was recovered. As per his wishes, Anderson had been cremated and his ashes scattered in the Sol system around Earth.

 His grave marker was placed in London amongst all the other soldiers who lost their lives during the last days on Earth. Hackett later told Kentworth he’d asked to be placed among ‘his men’.

 Shepard was lucky to have him as a father figure. Because that was what he was to Shepard, although he might not admit it. He was the only one Shepard spoke about with such veneration. He wasn’t afraid to show how much he admired the man.

 “I shot him.”

 Kentworth looked up from her notes, utterly startled by the confession.

 Shepard was looking across at her, jaw set.

 “You shot him?” she repeated, unable to mask the shock in her voice.

 “Technically, yeah.”

 “ _Technically_?”

 “The Reapers had this technology—this way of controlling people. Indoctrination, they called it. They just wormed their way into a person’s mind and controlled them. At the end, when I was heading to the Crucible I… my walls fell down. The Reapers got into my head and…” He looked down at his hands. “They used me to shoot Anderson.”

 Kentworth sighed with relief. “I know about indoctrination, John. I studied it during the war. Numerous men and women were affected by it, no matter their strengths and convictions. Your actions were not your own— _you_ didn’t shoot Anderson. They did.”

 “I know that,” he said. “Anderson knew it, too. It wasn’t my fault.”

 “It is good to hear you say that, but do you honestly believe it?”

 Shepard nodded. “Yes,” he said forcefully. “I didn’t kill him. I thought I had for a while. I wanted to blame myself but… but I can’t let the blame fall on me. There is only so much guilt I can burden before I go fucking crazy.”

 “I think you’ve taken on too much guilt already, John. I think you blame yourself for far too many things that you had no possible control over,” Kentworth said. “I’ve told you this before, but you have real issues with control, and I think you need to work on that.”

 Shepard snorted. “Yeah, but even when I do have that control I still manage to get people killed.”

 Kentworth sighed. “John, you said so yourself weeks ago—you’re going to make tough calls and people will die under your orders. There is no escaping that reality. But you made decisions that saved thousands upon thousands of lives. You helped cure the genophage, saved the galaxy from the Reapers, spared the Rachni and prevented the extinction of a race, and, when they were still functioning, you gave the Geth peace—”

 Kentworth stopped as soon as she saw Shepard’s expression. She’d seen it before—months ago during one of their sessions. It was the one he wore when they’d been discussing the tough calls he’d had to make; the one that had Shepard looking so full of fear and guilt that Kentworth thought he was going to be sick.

 That same terrified look came over him again, his eyes wide and unseeing, skin going deathly pale, like someone had just swathed him in the robe of a ghost. The hollow crown was perched upon his head, weighing him down.

 “John…” she said softly. “John… what happened to the Geth?”

 Shepard continued to stare at nothing, his jaw clenched tight. He wasn’t listening.

 She stood up and approached him slowly, wary about touching him and triggering something violent. “John,” she repeated, kneeling down slowly so she was in his line of sight.

 He moved then, jerked his head to the side to avoid eye contact. Blinking back the memories, he ran a hand over his face roughly and swung his leg around, narrowly avoiding hitting her as he sat upright on the couch. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and breathed deeply; going through the motions she’d taught him to help him get through a trigger.

 She sat back down and waited as he evened out his breathing, letting him take his time. So long as he remained present in the room, they’d be fine.

 “John, I want you to talk to me,” she said after five minutes. His breathing was leveling out, and he looked more alive than before, skin no longer quite so pale.

 He stayed hunched over, hands linked and resting on the back of his neck. He took another steadying breath before speaking, voice tight with emotion. “I made a bad call… that’s what happened to the Geth.”

 “What call did you make?” she prompted.

 He swallowed thickly. “The Crucible… when I got to the Crucible I had… I had a _choice_. This thing—an AI or something—gave me a choice. Sounds fucking crazy, doesn’t it?” he said, laughing mirthlessly. “A ghostly AI apparition _thing_ gave me a choice on how I wanted to use the Crucible.”

 Kentworth didn’t really follow but wanted Shepard to keep going. She had to admit, it did sound a bit bizarre. But Shepard had been undergoing monumental stressors at the time of the final battle—it wasn’t entirely out of line to think he’d eventually suffer possible mental collapse—even hallucinations—near the end, either from injury or exhaustion or the loss of loved ones.

 “There was a way to preserve all synthetic life,” he continued. He was obviously struggling to explain it, brows furrowed as he stared off in the corner of the room, mind whirling away as he tried to work out his memories. She could tell he was getting frustrated, his voice clipped and tone short. “I could have saved the Geth and E—I could have made a different choice. But I was a coward and I couldn’t let the Reapers live—even if they could have done some _good_. I just couldn’t take that chance. I had spent so fucking long trying to destroy those bastards that I just couldn’t... So I made the call to destroy the Reapers but in doing so I killed _all_ synthetic life. I murdered an entire race because I couldn’t… I couldn’t…” he looked up at Kentworth, eyes red with unshed tears. “I murdered the Geth. That’s what happened to them.”

 She didn’t understand. None of this was in her reports—none of this made any sense. She understood that the Alliance kept some things secret, but surely she should have known about this; about this supposed choice he had to make.

 “John… you think you murdered the Geth?” she asked slowly, trying to piece together what was going on.

 “I _know_ I did,” he said, turning on her quick like a snake. “Like I said—there _was_ a way to preserve synthetic life; but at the cost of the Reapers remaining. And _I_ thought that cost was too high. _I_ had to make the call and _I_ made the… fuck, I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.”

 “And you feel you made the wrong one?”

 “I don’t know!” he yelled. “I just said I don’t fucking know!” Blue flared up around him, and Kentworth noted that Helen was trying to call her, no doubt to ask if everything was okay.

 “John, I need you to calm down,” she said, keeping her tone even. “I need you to breathe and try to relax—you’re getting overwhelmed and I need you to—”

 “You _need_ me to calm down?” he said loudly. The blue was gone but he still looked panicked, eyes wide with fear. “Don’t you think I fucking try to be calm? Don’t you think I haven’t fucking tried? Do you think I enjoy waking up every day and living my life with the knowledge that I _murdered_ EDI!?”

 Something snapped. As soon as he said the name ‘EDI’ he was up and off the couch. She didn’t have time to register what was going on until it had happened—a loud bang and the crack of plaster accompanied with a yell filled with such raw agony Kentworth felt it in her chest.

 Shepard had punched a hole through her wall.

 She stood up and tossed her datapad on to the ground. Shepard’s shoulders were shaking, his fist still stuck deep into the wall when she approached him. His head was ducked, eyes squeezed shut, and she saw tears falling down his cheeks and nose.

 Helen came bursting into the room then, one of the Turian security guards close behind her.

 “Mrs. Kentworth are you—”

 “I’m fine, Helen,” she said quickly. Her attention was completely on Shepard as he tried to curl in around himself whilst his hand was stuck in the wall. He was covering his face with his free hand, the tears still coming as he tried to hide himself. “Go and get some medi-gel from the cabinet in the break-room. And thank you, but I don’t believe a security guard is necessary.”

 She didn’t look to see if Helen had done as she’d asked. Instead she reached out and gently touched Shepard’s trapped arm, feeling him shake under her touch.

 “I need you to try and open your hand up,” she instructed quietly. It took him a second, one in which Kentworth wondered if he had heard her, before she felt him move, his hand shifting inside the wall, plaster coming down around them. Once he had done as asked she helped him pull his hand out, plaster crumbling down on to the carpet, flecks of blood on them. Sitting Shepard down on the couch, she sat beside him and held his bloodied, large hand in her own smaller, liver spotted ones. She didn’t say anything, simply let Shepard continue to cry silently, giving him his space and respecting his desires to hide what he most likely deemed a weakness.

Helen returned with gauze, a small cloth, and a small tube of medi-gel in her grasp. She placed the items down on the table and hovered close by, watching Shepard carefully as he sat, hand still over his face and shoulders hunched.

 “Thank you, Helen, that will be all for now,” Kentworth said, shooting Helen a reassuring smile. She seemed hesitant to leave but did in the end, sending a few backward glances as she went.

 Kentworth set to work cleaning Shepard’s hand off, slow, gentle movements the entire way. His knuckles were swollen and bloody, and she dabbed them clean with the cloth. By the time she was done Shepard had stopped crying, but was avoiding eye contact, head turned away from her—either in shame or frustration, she wasn’t sure.

 Finishing up with the cleaning, she applied the gel to his hand—just enough to ease the ache—before wrapping it up gently in the gauze.

 “There—good as new,” she said, patting his hand sympathetically.

“Thank you,” he croaked out, voice rough and low with spent emotions. “I’m sorry about your wall…”

 Kentworth shrugged. “It’s been dented before.”

 “I’ll fix it for you.”

 “If you’d like.”

 They sat in silence for a little while longer, his hand still in hers. She watched the patterns the shadows from the sun created on the floor, giving Shepard his emotional space. Finally Shepard began to move, taking his hand back from hers and cradling it in his lap, fingers curling in to test the stiffness and pain.

 “Would you like to talk about EDI?” she asked after another minute or so had passed.

 Shepard continued to move his hand, bandages around his knuckles restricting his movement—but that didn’t prevent him from testing their limits. He cleared his throat and looked over at Kentworth. His eyes were swollen and red, and his cheeks were pink.

 He took a deep, steadying breath, and began to talk about EDI.

 The Enhanced Defence Intelligence, the woman, and the future Shepard had given her, and what he had thought he’d wrenched from her arms.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello, Kaidan... 
> 
> Thanks to teadrunktailor for beta'ing!

  Kaidan was used to writing up Alliance reports. Spectre reports, however…

_‘There’s just so much… bureaucracy,’ he said to Joker one night. ‘With the Alliance all you have to worry about is human politics and rules, but with the Council you’ve got alien laws, human laws… it’s just… it’s a lot, you know?’_

_‘Why not ask how Shepard does his?’ Joker suggested as he plucked away at the console in front of him._

_‘He has devised a template,’ EDI added._

_Joker snorted. ‘Does it say ‘Fuck you I’m a Spectre’ whenever they ask why he did something?’_

_‘I don’t want to bother Shepard,’ Kaidan said, ignoring Joker’s comment. ‘He’s got a lot to deal with—he doesn’t need my issues on top of everything else.’_

_Kaidan noticed a very obvious grin spread across Joker’s face. ‘I don’t think he’d ever consider you a bother, Alenko.’_

Kaidan stared down at his datapad, brows furrowed as he tried to figure out the right way to word the end of his report. He’d spent the last hour on it trying to get it to read properly, let alone make it obvious he knew what the hell he was doing (which he didn’t). Being a Spectre was good and all, but Kaidan had completely forgotten how much paperwork Shepard was bogged down in when he’d originally been designated the ‘First Human Specter’.

 “You could have told me about this when I asked if I should join up, Shepard,” he mumbled to himself as he scratched out an entire line.

 The sound of the starboard doors swishing open and the thud of heavy footfalls broke Kaidan from his griping, and he looked up to see Shepard coming in for his traditional late evening individual debriefings.

 Kaidan hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his post-mission talks with Shepard until they went away.

 “Joke tells me you’re having trouble with your Spectre reports,” Shepard said, blunt and straight to the point.

 Kaidan rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch with a sigh. “I told him not to bother you about it.”

 Shepard shrugged and sat down next to Kaidan, close enough that if Kaidan spread his legs just a little more they’d knock knees. Taking the datapad, he began scrolling through it, concentration on his features. “It’s not a bother,” he mumbled as he read

_It certainly feels like a bother. The Reapers have invaded, the entire galaxy is looking to you, and here you are, helping me figure out how to write a straight forward report._

 Kaidan stared out the window as Shepard read, trying to keep his gaze on the stars and not the man beside him. Since he’d come back to the Normandy Kaidan found it increasingly difficult not to inspect Shepard anytime they were together.

 He just looked so completely different from the man he’d served with three years ago. His features had always been striking in a severe sort of way, but lately he’d hollowed out, cheekbones more prominent and eyes dimmer, dark bags under them from a lack of sleep. Lines from stress branched out from the corners of his eyes and between his brows, aging him beyond his thirty-two years. He was still handsome—obscenely so. But Kaidan knew that everything was taking a toll on him. It had to be.

 “When was the last time you slept?” he found himself asking.

 Shepard looked up from the report, a brow quirked. “You checking in on me now?”

 Kaidan shrugged. “Just concerned.”

 “Don’t worry about it,” he said. Grabbing the stylus from Kaidan’s hands, he let their touch linger. Kaidan didn’t say anything and Shepard didn’t either, but he caught the glance Shepard sent his way. “You should try and keep the report simple, Kaidan. You’re getting too involved. Half the time they don’t even read this shit.”

 “You’re changing the subject,” Kaidan said.

 “Yep.”

 Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the datapad back from Shepard. “Thanks for the advice—now let me give you some: go get some rest.”

 Shepard seemed surprised at Kaidan’s actions, lips parted and brows raised high.

 “I’m serious,” he continued. He knew he was crossing the line—giving his commanding officer orders—but he was sick of seeing Shepard putting everyone else before him. It had to stop somewhere and clearly everyone else was too afraid to tell Shepard to just sit his ass down and take a five minute breather. “We just got back from fighting a bunch of brutes and husks, and I know you’re feeling drained from all the biotics you used. So go and sleep—you’re starting to look like Garrus.”

 Shepard laughed then. Running a hand over his head, Kaidan wondered, briefly and a bit guiltily, what the short stubble of Shepard’s hair would feel like under his touch.

 “You don’t have to worry about me, Kaidan,” he said. He sent him a small, soft smile, one Kaidan could stand to see more often.

 “Well someone has to,” he said quietly. Shepard held his gaze then, and Kaidan felt his cheeks heat up from an unannounced blush.

  _You’re thirty-five, Kaidan, get it together._

 “Fine, I’ll get some sleep,” Shepard said, breaking eye contact. Standing, he shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and headed to the door. “We still on for that dinner you suggested when we get to the Citadel?” he asked at the door.

 Kaidan turned around and nodded. “Y-Yeah, if you’re still up for it.”

 Shepard nodded. “Yeah, for sure. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

 The knowledge that Shepard _had_ something to look forward to was good enough for Kaidan.

XX

Kenworth looked down at her cup of tea and watched the lemon slice rest comfortably on top. Twirling her pen in her hand, she pondered if it was cool enough to drink yet, chewing on the thought as a way to clear her mind. She’d been going over her last session with Shepard, listening to the tape in hopes of better understanding what had happened.

 She’d been unable to really get any information from Shepard about the ‘choices’ the Crucible had given him, just that he had thought he had a choice and said choice had resulted in what he deemed a ‘mass murder’.

 Sighing, she decided to let the tea cool a little longer and flicked on the recording.

_‘—so you believe that you murdered EDI?’_ her voice asked, carrying through the room crisply.

 There was a long pause before _, ‘I don’t know what else to call it,’_ Shepard’s rough voice said, _‘She said she felt alive. She had emotions, likes and dislikes—she even had a sense of humour. She was living as far as I was concerned, and so were the Geth.’_

_‘But you’ve made the tough calls before that got people killed; you said so yourself. Why do you think this one has you struggling so much? Is it the magnitude?’_

 Shepard sighed _. ‘Maybe. I did extinguish an entire race.’_

_‘To save a great deal more. You seem to forget that you also killed the Reapers. Sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, John.’_

_‘I… I know that.’_

_‘Yet you still feel as if you made the wrong call?’_

_‘There might have been a better option…’_

 There was a pause in the tape before she heard her voice again. _‘I’m going to ask you a question that you’ve stated you’ve asked yourself before: what would Anderson have done.’_

 Again, a long silence followed by a heavy sigh. _‘Our end goal was to defeat the Reapers… end them so that they couldn’t keep the cycle going. The only chance to secure that was to destroy the Reapers completely…’_

_‘So what would Anderson have done?’_

_‘… I’d like to say he’d have done what I did but… but I’m not certain.’_

_‘I’d like to propose a theory,’_ Kentworth said softly. _‘And I’d like you to hear me out before you say anything. I believe the reason that you’re taking the loss of EDI so hard is because you’re projecting all of your past actions and insecurities on to this one particular death. Everything had been piling up for a very long time, but you were able to just push it all aside. When you made this final decision you thought this would be the end—that you would pass away, leave your legacy alive and die as a hero, but without having to deal with any of the possible fallout for your actions. But you survived, and suddenly everything you’d been holding on to was released. EDI just happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were._

_‘You need to stop blaming yourself, John. You also need to realize that, as much as the galaxy likes to pretend you’re something else—something more—you’re still human at the end of the day. You aren’t perfect and you can’t expect yourself to be perfect. You made a choice, one that I don’t think anyone would blame you for making, and you saved a good many lives because of it.’_

 She heard Shepard cough into his hand, clearing his throat. _‘I guess… I just… this has all been collecting, you know? All these emotions and regrets, I’ve just been trying to ignore them and it’s finally getting to me.’_

_‘Have you spoken to your pilot since he returned to the Sol system?’_ she asked.

_‘Not since he found out about why EDI went offline, no. You know that vid call that I had? That made me agree to take the anxiety medication? That was with him. He wanted to talk but I… I panicked.’_

_‘I think speaking to him again would help. You’ve come a long way since that last conversation. I think, perhaps, it might also help to visit the Normandy. You told me you haven’t been on board since the war.’_

_‘I… don’t know if I could go back inside.’_

_‘I’m not asking right now, but in a few months, perhaps. Maybe even a year.’_

  Kentworth stopped the recording and put down her pen. Picking up her tea, she took a long drink and eyed the clock on the wall. Shepard was due to arrive any minute. Placing her tea down, she noticed her intercom light flashing and pressed the button, Helen’s voice carrying through.

 “Mr. Shepard is here to see you, ma’am,” she said. There was a pause before she spoke again, “He is wondering if Major Alenko can join in today’s session.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. Shepard had been very adamant about not wanting group therapy sessions of any kind, despite her insistence it would help. She suspected he was only agreeing now so Kaidan could act as a buffer.

 He was avoiding.

 “Yes, of course,” she said. “Bring them in—and be a dear and make us a pot of coffee?”

 “Right away, ma’am.”

 Putting her notes away, she scrounged up the preliminary notes she’d made had Shepard ever agreed to a group session and headed to the usual spot, smiling as Shepard and Kaidan walked through the door.

 “Hello, ma’am,” Kaidan said, extended his hand to her.

 She took it, amused at how gentle Kaidan was being, shaking her hand like she’d snap at the slightest of pressure. “Hello, Major Alenko.” She turned her attention to Shepard. “How are you feeling today?”

 Shepard shrugged and sat down on the couch, resting his cane on the side. She noted that his hand was still bandaged. Either he didn’t want to waste medi-gel or he wanted the pain to serve as a reminder. She suspected it was the latter, unfortunately.

 “Please, take a seat, Major,” she said, watching Kaidan as he inspected the room. His gaze landed on the shoddily covered up hole in the wall, Kentworth having placed a ceramic decorative plate over top it.

 “Call me Kaidan,” he said, sitting down beside Shepard on the couch. She noticed that they kept a respectful distance between each other, their knees barely brushing as they sat side by side.

 Military personnel were prone to keeping their personal lives separate from the public. It was engrained deep into them early in their careers that emotions of any kind were a weakness, and that personal lives should remain out of the public sphere. It was archaic thinking to Kentworth. It was the bottling up of emotions that made men like Shepard seek out her help in the first place. It had been proven for centuries that close relationships between soldiers in combat was effective in creating strong military units. Soldiers who loved one another tended to fight stronger and harder to keep their loved one safe.

_Honestly, if soldiers learned to love a little more and hate a little less they’d be a great deal more well-adjusted._

 “Helen is bringing us coffee—I hope you don’t mind coffee, Kaidan?” she said, sitting down across from the two.

 “No, not at all; I love coffee, actually.” He smiled.

 “He’s addicted to the stuff,” Shepard said. He was leaning back on the couch, hand resting on the armrest while the other subtly rubbed the side of Kaidan’s thigh.

 Maybe he wasn’t as shy of casual intimacy as she’d first suspected.

Helen arrived with the tray soon after and placed it on the coffee table. The array of cookies and sweets she’d put on plates was enough to give Kentworth a small heart attack, but she suspected the two biotics before her appreciated the sugary confections. Immediately Kaidan set to preparing two mugs of coffee, and Kentworth remembered Shepard saying he liked the routine of it.

 “I must confess, John, I never expected you to agree to a group session,” she said as Kaidan poured small spoonfuls of sugar into one of the mugs. “What brought on the change of heart?”

 “I got to thinking after our last session. You kept telling me I was projecting a lot of my issues on to what happened with the Geth and EDI. And you had said that I should talk to others about it to see how they see it; that a different perspective might give me a healthier view of it all. And I see reason in that. So I thought maybe if Kaidan talked about it maybe that would help. You know, give me a new perspective on other things.”

Kentworth smiled. “I’m glad that you’ve come around to this position. And you’re comfortable with this, Kaidan?”

 Kaidan nodded. “Yeah, totally. I kept telling him the group session was a good idea but… well, he rarely listens to good advice.” He passed one of the mugs to Shepard who took it with a small thanks, seemingly choosing to ignore Kaidan’s barb. “Would you like a cup, ma’am?”

“I’m alright, but thank you.” She pulled up the questions she’d prepared for Kaidan, and turned on the recorder. “I’m just going to ask you some basics questions about John, and I’d like you to be as truthful as possible. I know it can be hard to say some truths in front of a person you care about, but I really need absolute honesty from you in order to get a proper picture of John.  And John, if you feel uncomfortable at any point in time feel free to ask us to stop. However, I urge you to listen carefully and patiently.”

 “Alright,” Shepard said, clutching his mug with both hands. He seemed a bit hesitant, but was making a good show of trying to look relaxed.

 “If this works out then perhaps we can make this a bi-weekly thing? Today will be spent getting a feel for your past, John. In time, if Kaidan is comfortable enough, he can open up about his past experiences in an attempt to get you to relate. It’s with hope that eventually you may be able to use each other’s experiences to come to grips with some of the more difficult parts of your lives,” she continued.

 Kaidan nodded and looked over at Shepard, shooting him a reassuring smile. “Sound good?” he asked softly.

 Shepard nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”

 Kaidan turned back to Kentworth and held her gaze, warmth in his eyes despite the intensity with which he looked at her. “Alright—where do you want to start?”

 “I thought we’d start at the beginning,” she said. “Think back to when you first met John; back on the original Normandy. Tell me what your first impression was of him.”

 “He was… severe. A bit intimidating, too. Everyone knew about his reputation before he was on the ship, so I think that played a factor in how I initially saw him.”

 “And that reputation was?”

 “Well… uh, he was called the ‘Butcher of Torfan’. Everyone in the Alliance knew about what had happened there—how he’d taken the base but at a high cost. He was described to me as being ruthless. It wasn’t the most flattering depiction, I gotta admit. And I’ll also admit that I fell for it at first. When he showed up I was a little intimidated. I thought that if he was willing to sacrifice his men on Torfan than we’d be expendable, too.”

 “And did he live up to his reputation once you’d met him?” she asked, eyes skirting over to Shepard for a moment. He was sat silent, gaze locked on the sugar bowl in front of him, but she knew he was present in the conversation.

 “No, not at all,” Kaidan said quickly. Sitting forward he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “I mean, John’s always been a bit… intense, I guess? He’s a bit gruff and… easily annoyed, I suppose. But once you get past the initial front he puts up you realize pretty quickly he’s not at all as ruthless as some people made him out to be. I think I first noticed that he was different when I saw him interacting with Tali. He was patient with her, you know? He always went to check up on her and make sure she was okay. He was almost kind of sweet with her.”

 He smiled while Shepard frowned.

 “He was a good listener,” Kaidan continued. “He always asked about the crew’s lives—wanted to get a feel for where we were at but also get to know us on a personal level. And he never judged… at least, not with me. I uh… I had a rough few years when I was younger and did some stuff I regretted, but when I told John he didn’t judge. He just listened. But he was notoriously tight lipped about himself.”

 “How do you mean?” she asked.

 Kaidan took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “He never talked about himself. He’d listen to everyone else’s life story, but he never gave up anything about himself.”

 “Any theories as to why?”

 “I don’t know, honestly. It’s just what Shepard is like. He’s always been kind of quiet about himself. And he’s always put others before him. He’d spent all his time sorting out other peoples’ issues and then none on his own. It eventually got to the point where I’d have to schedule him some down time during the Reaper War because he wasn’t going to take a break otherwise.”

 “Did you ever feel close to John during your time on the Normandy SR-1?” she inquired, watching as Shepard tapped his fingers along the side of the mug. She could believe everything Kaidan was telling her; Shepard had a stubborn streak when it came to his own life. She suspected a number of reasons, most of it stemming from his childhood. Growing up on the street usually turned people away from emotions that could be seen as weak; giving away too much could result in someone exploiting those weaknesses.

 “I like to think we developed a bond. We went pretty much everywhere together during the mission against Saren. John’s pretty good at closing himself up, but stuff slips past the longer you spend time with a person, you know?”

 “I spent most of my time with Garrus and Kaidan,” Shepard interjected.

 “Why was that?” Kentworth asked.

 Shepard shrugged. “They were good soldiers. They knew how to get the job done without a bunch of faffing about. And… well…”

 “Well?”

 “I enjoyed my time with them,” he said. “I felt pretty close to the two of them by the end of it all.”

 Kaidan smiled softly and nudged Shepard with his knee. “You played it pretty close to the chest at the time.”

 Shepard shrugged again, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I had an image to maintain. I couldn’t appear too human to you guys—you’d lose all respect and never follow my orders.”

 Kaidan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Whatever you say…” He turned back to Kentworth and sat back. “But uh… yeah. When I first met Shepard I was kind of nervous. But once I got to know him a bit better I realized that half the stuff said about him was just a bunch of bullshit. He was an attentive, astute guy—he just didn’t like showing it. But, uh… before I could get to know him better the Collectors attacked.”

 “Was losing John hard on you at the time?” Kentworth questioned. She knew the answer but wanted to hear it from Kaidan himself.

 Kaidan’s eyes darkened for the briefest of moments, before he spoke, voice giving away very little of his past pains and grief. “It was… it was really hard, yeah. I’d lost people before—being in the Alliance on the front lines makes you all too aware of how quickly a person can leave your life—but losing John was… it was really hard. I was lost, almost. I felt like I was missing a piece of myself, you know? And we weren’t even involved back then, either. I mean, I started to feel something more romantic before the attack but it was just some crush, you know? I passed it off as hero worship or something—like, I was idealizing him. But then he died and… and yeah, I took it hard.”

 “How did you cope?”

 Kaidan took another sip of his coffee, using the time to think about what he wanted to say. Shepard sat silently beside him. Their knees were touching now.

 “I pretended to cope, if that makes any sense,” he said eventually. “Like, I pretended everything was fine. I just pushed it all aside. Soldiers lose their COs all the time, right? So I just put on this front; threw myself into my work and dedicated myself to the Alliance like I’d been trained to do. And it worked for a time. But then rumours began filtering in about how Shepard was seen alive and wearing Cerberus colours and I was a wreck again. I was _angry_.”

 “Why were you angry?” she asked, curious. If Kaidan had a negative reaction to Shepard’s resurrection, it could be a key piece as to why Shepard struggled so much with it himself. Kaidan was obviously an important person to Shepard well before their romantic involvement with one another. If he reacted poorly, there was no telling what kind of influence that could have had on Shepard’s own perception.

 “Cerberus has a pretty shitty reputation now, but back then they were still doing some terrible things—they were just better at hiding it. We’d run into them a few times during the Saren mission, and every time it was because they’d been experimenting; either on people or aliens, it didn’t matter. They said they put humanity first but honestly? I think they just wanted power any way they could get it. They were a xenophobic organization with questionable morals and… and when I saw Shepard with them I couldn’t see the trees amongst the forest, you know?”

 “He yelled at me,” Shepard said, and Kentworth swore his was pouting. “I’d never seen him so angry before. I mean, here comes one of my old crew whom I was… I was invested in, and… the reunion was a clusterfuck, let’s put it that way.”

 “So you didn’t take Shepard’s return well?” Kentworth prompted. “You saw him as a Cerberus project first and foremost, rather than your old Commander?”

 Kaidan nodded and took another drink, buying himself some time. He looked guilty, black brows pushed together and curved upward in a rather incredible display of the ‘puppy dog’ expression. Kentworth was impressed.

 “I wouldn’t let it go, either,” he said. “When we were reunited after Earth was attacked I just kept… I kept pressing, you know? I kept asking Shepard about what Cerberus had done to him—if they’d experimented on him like they’d done to their own people. I kept insinuating, even though I didn’t mean to, that he was a husk or something; wasn’t truly human.”

_Well bugger. That explains a lot._

  “And how did that make you feel, John?” she asked.

 Shepard shrugged and fiddled with his mug. “Made me second guess myself, I guess. I was beginning to wonder if this was all just a really bad fucking idea. Because I didn’t know myself; I didn’t know if I was part husk or what. I just knew I was brought back from the dead and that some pretty intense science must have been used to do it.”

 Kentworth sighed and pursed her lips. “Kaidan, has John told you about his struggles to understand his death and resurrection?”

 “Yeah, I think I know most of it,” Kaidan said, nodding. He frowned then, and looked down at his coffee. “I think I see where this is going. You think that my comments about him coming back might have… hurt him?”

 “Perhaps. I don’t think it was intentional, but I think your words had an effect on how he saw himself. You are, and were back then as well, the most important person to John. Your words and actions toward him no doubt had an effect on him.”

 “Shit.” Kaidan turned to Shepard and frowned. “I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean that stuff—”

 “I know, K. We’ve been over this and I know where you were coming from.” Shepard turned to Kentworth and continued, voice a little sterner. “It’s not Kaidan’s fault I’m the way that I am.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “I’m not accusing him of causing all of your fears and struggles with your death, John—there is no need to become protective. I’m simply stating that his actions played a _role_ in how you see yourself; same as any of your other companions’ reactions. Every little bit helps me to understand where you’re coming from and how to help assuage some of your anxieties.”

“It’s fine, ma’am. I get where you’re coming from,” Kaidan said. “You’re right—I played a role in it somewhere down the line. But I know he’s who he was back when I first met him; everything is the same, including his love of terrible instant microwave food. You can’t programme that kind of stuff.”

 Shepard rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” he mumbled without any real ire.

 “Well now that I’ve got that bit of information, combined with meeting Miranda as you had planned in a few days, I think we can work a bit more on your sleep issues at a later date,” she mumbled, marking down the time on her notes. Looking back up at Shepard she smiled brightly. “See, this is already helping. How are you feeling so far?”

 “Good.”

 “And you, Kaidan?”

 “I’m fine,” he said. “If it helps Shepard, I’m good with it.”

 “Now let’s continue the story: you eventually returned to the Normandy once she was an Alliance vessel?”

 Kaidan nodded. Putting his mug down on the table, he leaned forward. Shepard stayed back against the couch, but he was watching Kaidan speak this time, attention fixed on him and him alone.

 “I’d been in an accident—I think Shepard told you about it, right?”

 Kentworth nodded.

 “Yeah, so… it was pretty eye opening, actually. I realized some things; figured out what was important in my life. I wanted to make amends with John—put everything that was said in the past and move on. Eventually, when I returned to the Normandy, everything I’d been bottling up for so long just kind of… it kind of came out. We were on what most believed to be the last mission we’d ever make, a war was raging and I didn’t think any of us would live, and I just kept thinking about what I’d regret were I to die the next day. And all that came to mind was how I’d regret not telling John how important he is to me. How… how I’d fallen in love with him years ago but had been too blind to see it.

 “I mean, I’d felt things for other people in the past, but with John it was… it was more gradual. I began to realize that I cared for him on a very deep, personal level. I loved so much about him—from his passion and dedication, to the way he took the time to know his crew and treat them with respect, even if he didn’t always agree with them. He’s still blunt and a bit intense, but I don’t see that as a bad thing, you know? Sometimes I’d question his methods but he’d listen to me when I did; I felt like an equal around him. I still feel like an equal—like we’re partners. I just… he’s incredibly important to me, and I wanted him to know that.”

 “And so you told him,” Kentworth stated.

 “I told him. And, lucky for me, he felt the same way.” Kaidan glanced over his shoulder to smile at John, Shepard returning the smile with a wink. Turning back to Kentworth, Kaidan picked up a cookie and tapped it against his fingers. “After that we just tried to get as much time together as we could. It wasn’t a lot—it was frantic and messy and I thought I was going to lose him at any second—but it was all we could get. And we’d take anything we could get back then.”

 “You seem quite dedicated to one another now. Loving a man like John could not have been easy on you—particularly the commitments you’ve made over the years. Your dedication to one another is admirable,” she said gently. She gave them a moment to ponder their thoughts before surging forward, wanting to keep up the momentum. “Tell me about after the Reaper War. I heard you didn’t get to see John in the hospital until much later.”

 “It was almost five months before we got back in the Sol system,” Kaidan said. “After Shepard made it to the Crucible we got blown out of the system. EDI went offline so we had to rely on Joker completely to get us somewhere safe. We crash landed on this jungle planet and just… kind of sat for a bit, if I’m going to be honest. There was dextrose friendly food, so Garrus and Tali weren’t at risk of starving, and we all kind of… I don’t know. We didn’t know what to do, you know? Everything had happened so fast that it took us a few days before we started to plan what we were going to do. We held a funeral—mostly for EDI, but I’d be lying if I said some of us weren’t thinking about John as well. We didn’t know, you know? Didn’t know if he was alive or dead. I kept my hopes up, but I think I was the only one who did. Everyone else was much more practical than I.

 “It took us a couple of months to get back to Earth. With the Mass Relays partially destroyed we had to rely on the speed of the Normandy alone. But she got us back—a little worse for wear, but… yeah, we got back.”

 Kentworth watched Shepard as Kaidan told the story—noticed how he began to distance himself from the conversation as the topic of EDI came up, eyes turning glassy and gaze fixated on the creamer on the table. Kaidan must have known the topic of EDI was a sore one, but he continued forward.

  _Good. He needs to be exposed to it. He can’t hide from it._

 “When did you learn of Shepard’s survival?” she asked.

 “Almost immediately. We docked in London and I asked the first person I could find if they found any sign of John. It was at that point that I prepared for the worst. I’d spent months and months believing he was still alive and then at the last second, I uh… I lost hope. But then I heard they’d found him—alive—and he was at a local hospital. I ran then,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

 “You ran to the hospital?” she asked, quirked a brow.

 “Yeah. Couldn’t wait for transport—I just took off. I hadn’t been able to shave for weeks, I looked like a crazy man, but I had to see John. I just had to see him. Of course, the nurses wouldn’t let me in when I first arrived.”

 “He almost got in a fight,” Shepard said, fondness in his voice. “I’ve never seen him—or I guess heard him—lose his cool like that before.”

 “You heard him in the hallway?” she asked.

 “Yep—he was making quite the fuss. It was good I heard him, though, because I managed to convince one of the doctors to let him in. And when he did get in he didn’t know what to do,” Shepard said, chuckling.

 “You were all— he was all banged up, alright? I didn’t want to hurt him. Half of him was covered in bandages and tubbing, plus his leg was pinned in place by some spider looking thing. But once I did figure out where he began and the injuries ended I did something.”

“He cried,” Shepard interjected.  

 Kaidan blushed and sent Shepard a look. “Okay yeah, so I cried. But I also hugged you.”

 “And ended up climbing on to the bed, crushing me and sending my vitals into a fever pitch.”

 “You were the one who wouldn’t let go of me.”

 “Well yeah, you were crying and crushing me to death on the bed so…”

 “You’re ruining the story, John.”

Kentworth watched the exchange with fascination. She’d never seen this type of behaviour from Shepard before. The ease in which he laughed, the gentle, fond teasing, and the twinkle in his eye—these were all very, very good signs. She’d worried that his home life was beginning to fray under the stresses and yes, while she still held these fears, it was good to see him act so… freely. No inhibitions—just a young man playfully arguing with his partner.

 It was good to see Shepard be himself—not a marine, not an orphan, not some battle wounded Saviour of the Galaxy.

 It was good to see John Shepard.

 Watching Shepard, Kentworth could tell he was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and support, you guys! Means a lot, and I'm so happy you're all enjoying the story this far!
> 
> Shout-out and many thanks to teadrunktailor for the beta work she does. What a champ.

“Did you ever know your father, Shepard?”

 Shepard looked up from his gun, bits and pieces scattered around him, a cleaning cloth in hand as he scrubbed the barrel free from grime. Miranda sat a short distance away from him, perched on a box of supplies down in the hanger of the Normandy. She’d slipped down there unannounced, a cup of tea in her grasp and her hair piled back in a messy bun at the base of her skull, an oddly defenceless look about her.

 It was late at night, most of the Normandy asleep, and Shepard had come down to clean his guns, unable to sleep for the twenty-ninth night in a row. He had no idea how Miranda found him, hidden away amongst the crates and the Kodiak, sitting down on the ground surrounded by a collection of guns, but when she did spot him she didn’t say anything—didn’t break his solitude or disrupt his concentration. She just seemed to come down to share in a bit of the peace he’d found down here in the lowest deck, away from most everyone else.

 They’d sat in comfortable silence for the last half hour—until now.

 “No, I didn’t,” he said, going back to cleaning. “My parents died when I was young.”

 “I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied.

 “Don’t apologize. You can only bring so many Shepard’s back to life.”

 She smiled slightly, Shepard catching it out of the corner of his eye.

 “You thinking about what happened with your father and Niket?” he asked.

 Miranda sighed and curled her legs up on top of the crate, sitting cross legged. “I just keep thinking about how easily blindsided I was by it all. I trusted Niket fully and he betrayed me. I should have seen it coming—I should have known.”

 “It wasn’t your fault, Miranda. You couldn’t have known,” Shepard said as he continued to clean his gun. “Some people are just assholes.”

 “I won’t let it happen again,” she said, each word laced with conviction.

 “How are you going to prevent that? Not let anyone into your life? You can’t close everyone off, Miranda.”

 “It’s worked well for you,” she quipped. “You won’t let anyone in. You’re giving me a run for my money as the ‘ice bitch’.”

 Shepard stopped what he was doing and looked up at Miranda. Their eyes locked before she ducked her head, lips pursed.

 “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that.”

 “It’s fine,” he mumbled, going back to his cleaning.

 There was silence again, the gentle hum of the Normandy and the swipe of a cloth against metal the only sound in the room. Shepard tried not to let his annoyance show, but it was difficult when what she’d said rang true. He didn’t like being called out like that; didn’t like that she knew what was going on with him.

 It made him feel vulnerable.

 “What about your sister?” he asked after a time. “You just going to forget about her?”

 Miranda sighed. “She’s the only good thing in my life right now,” she admitted.

 Shepard nodded. “Then keep your focus on her—not on Niket or your father. Concentrate on the good things in your life and not all that other shit.” Putting down the barrel of his Carnifex, he cleaned his hands off with a rag and went to put the gun back together, enjoying the certainty in it.

 “Thanks, Shepard…” Miranda said after a time.

 “No problem.”  

 “You know… I brought you back for a reason: to defeat the Collectors,” Miranda said quietly. Shepard avoided her gaze and continued to clean. “But just because you were brought back for a specific purpose, doesn’t mean you can’t live your life outside of that.”

 Shepard didn’t say anything and just continued to rebuild his gun. He didn’t want to think about his life; the future or the past. He didn’t care about it either way. He had a purpose and he was going to focus on that and that alone. Everything else had fallen apart while he was gone and he just couldn’t fit the pieces back together again like he could with his Carnifex. There was no point in even fucking trying. His status in the Alliance, his old crew, the Council and the Reapers. It was all just a fucking mess that he was perfectly willing to pretend didn’t exist.

 Miranda wouldn’t let him, however.

 “When this is all done and we make it out of the Omega 4 relay, promise me you’ll do something with what Cerberus has given you? And do it for you—no one else. Promise me this, Shepard.”

 The emotion in Miranda’s voice caught Shepard off-guard. He’d only heard her take that tone once with her sister. Miranda didn’t get emotional—it just wasn’t part of who she was. It was only because of this that Shepard looked up from the barrel of his gun to lock eyes with her.

 “Don’t squander this second chance,” she said.

Shepard swallowed the brick in his throat and looked back down at his scarred hands, gun clutched tightly in them. _Easier said than done._

XX

 “Your sweater is coming along well,” Kentworth noted.

 Shepard was sitting at his usual place on the couch, a bag full of yarn in front of him and knitting needles in his grasp. She’d asked him to bring them with him this session, wanting to see if knitting and talking helped keep him calm and relaxed during their sessions. The dog sweater he was making took concentration and a real effort, and therefore she hoped it would distract him from his own volatile emotions.

 Besides, it was good to see him have fun with what he was doing.

 “Thanks,” he mumbled distractedly. “I messed up one of the little sleeves but I think it’s better now. The real struggle will be getting Cosmo into it.”

 She watched him work away for a little while as she went through her messages, finding the one Shepard had emailed her a few days ago informing her of Miranda’s visit to his place for the weekend. It seemed he wanted to give her a heads up as to what was going on in his life.

_Oh how far we’ve come… before you’d barely write anything in your journal—now you’re updating me on your weekend plans._

 “So, John, how was your weekend?”

 Shepard paused what he was doing and looked up at Kentworth. “It was… enlightening. And good. Really good.”

 “Enlightening and good,” she repeated, nodding and smiling. “Care to elaborate upon that?”

 “Well, Miranda arrived on Friday,” he said, going back to his knitting. “She said she was going to stay at a hotel near the Bay, but I convinced Kaidan to allow her to come stay with us for the weekend. We have the spare room so it was just practical.”

 “You had to convince Kaidan?”

 Shepard paused his knitting. “Maybe convince is the wrong word. More like… persuade.”

 “Those mean the same thing,” she pointed out. “Does Kaidan have a dislike or an animosity toward Miranda?”

 “Kind of. I don’t think he hates her, but he doesn’t trust her. He’s still stuck on the whole ‘Cerberus’ thing I think. He doesn’t admit it, but it’s not entirely comfortable with my old contacts with the organization. I don’t think he ever will be.”

 “And how does that make you feel?”

 Shepard smirked. “Using shrink talk on me now, ma’am?”

 Kentworth chuckled. “Sorry if I sound cliché, but the question remains: how do Kaidan’s opinions of some of your closer friends make you feel? He’s a large part of your life now, and his approval seems to hold great sway with you.”

 Shepard sighed and looked down at his hands. “I hope this doesn’t sound bad of me, but… Kaidan can be… judgemental.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “How so?”

 “He just passes judgement on a lot of people’s decisions. It’s usually little things—nothing deeply important. But he does it a lot; I noticed it and I remember EDI—” Shepard stopped speaking. Kentworth didn’t prompt him to continue, nor did she save him by changing the subject. Instead she watched as he took a few deep, steady breaths, before looking back up at Kentworth with a determination in his gaze. “EDI pointed it out once. At first I wanted to disagree with her, but what she said rang true to a certain extent. Kaidan judges people; plain and simple. And I tend to ignore some of his judgements because… I dunno. I don’t agree with some them.”

 “So he judged Miranda based upon her former employment and support of Cerberus?” she asked, trying very hard not to visibly beam as Shepard continued his story rather than changing it to be more comfortable.

 “Yeah, basically. I mean, I get it—she did work for Cerberus and she did tout the party line for a while. But she changed; she realized how fucked up an organization they had become and did everything in her power to get away from them. She saved my life—countless times, not just on the operating table—and she has done a lot to help refugees back on Earth after the war. Why not cut her some slack?”

 “You seem fond of Miranda,” Kentworth noted.

 Shepard shrugged and sat back, his knitting needles still in hand but the task long forgotten. “I… connected to her.”

“On a physical level?”

 Shepard chuckled. “No, ma’am, not literally. But I connected to her personal story… If that makes sense. She and I had a lot in common, even though we had completely different upbringings. She once said that we were both ‘built for greatness’, but she said it a bit critically. We both know we’re good at what we do, but knowing that has kind of given us a warped view of ourselves. We both punish ourselves when we’re not the best, because that’s what’s been expected of us. If we fuck up, we take it personally—even when there was nothing we could have done about it.”

 “I’m impressed,” Kentworth said. “I didn’t think you’d ever notice this about yourself, nor confess it.”

 Shepard smiled sheepishly. “Yeah well… when you’ve got a doctor telling you you’re a control freak for months on end, eventually you start to connect the dots.”

 “You’re not a control freak, John. You just need to let things sort themselves out sometimes. You can’t have an effect on everything in your life.”

 Shepard didn’t say anything. Instead he went back to his knitting.

 “So, tell me what you and Miranda did.”

 “Well we talked—a lot,” he said.

 “About what?”

“About whatever the fuck we wanted.”

 Kentworth sighed. “You don’t have to be so testy; I’m merely trying to get a sense of what your weekend was like.”

 “And you don’t have to beat around the bush—you want me to tell you about the talk she and I had about Project Lazarus, yeah?” he said.

 “I will admit, I was getting to that, but I am genuinely curious about what your weekend was like. You haven’t had any friends come and visit you for some time—I think it would be beneficial for me to get a sense of how your friendships have held up over the years. Your links to those around you are critical; they tie you to this world, and can help give you a sense of purpose.”

 Shepard’s gaze softened. “Sorry. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

 “As oppose to the minimal sleep you get most nights?”

 Shepard chuckled but it was without heart. “I was thinking a lot. About the project and everything I had learned.”

 “And what did you learn?” Kentworth asked, fearing for the worst but hoping for good news.

 “I learned that… that I’m completely me,” he said, and there was a happiness in his voice she’d not heard—ever.

 “Completely you?”

 Shepard nodded. “Miranda explained what they had done—she went over pretty much every single step of the project over the weekend. Kaidan sat in on a few, too. I thought it would give him some peace of mind as well. There was a lot of science that I didn’t really understand, but in the end—it’s mostly all me. What they rebuilt? Yeah… it’s all _me_ ; same heart, same lungs, same brain, just with some cybernetics and skin grafts to keep everything together. I’m not a monster or a husk. I’m what I always was, just with some more scars.”

 Kentworth couldn’t hide the grin that spread across her lips. She had hoped but she hadn’t dared let it blind her to the possible reality of receiving bad news. She’d even created a series of questions and possible therapy techniques in case he was told something bad—something like he had been completely rebuilt from parts that weren’t his own, or perhaps had something as insane as Reaper tech inside him.

 But instead he was told he was still human—flawed and beautifully so.

 “I am so happy for you,” Kentworth said, and if she wasn’t constrained by patient-doctor professionalism she’d have hugged him. “How did that news make you feel?”

 “It made me feel really good. Really damn good. For a while, at least.”

 “Only for a little bit?”

 “Well then I started to think about it,” he said. “I started to think about how much I had agonized over it, and let those fears and insecurities control my life and the choices I had made. Miranda also showed me photos… I had asked to see them but… yeah, it’s hard to look at photographs of your corpse.”

 “You saw photographs of your body after it had been recovered? How did you first feel upon seeing them?”

 Shepard had abandoned his knitting by now, the needles sitting loosely in his grasp as he stared at the table between them, brows furrowed, searching for words. “I felt… removed, almost, like it wasn’t me I was looking at. I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies in my time and they always look a bit… fake? I don’t know how to describe it, but it didn’t look like me. Even though it was.”

 “And Kaidan?”

 “He didn’t want to look. Said he couldn’t stand the thought of me being dead let alone seeing it. I get it. I don’t think I’d want to see a photograph of Kaidan’s body were our roles reversed.”

 “Do you think seeing your body and hearing about the Lazuras project helped? Do you think, perhaps, confronting the monster under the bed and revealing it to the world has helped you in some manner? Maybe made your death less frightening or, at the very least, easier to deal with?”

 Shepard shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not obsessing over my coming back as much as I once was, but… I still don’t sleep well. I feel like I’ve missed something—like something is missing in the process. I didn’t deal with any of my emotions after I came back for the longest time, and I think maybe I… missed a step or something.”

 “A step? You mean you missed a step in the grieving process?” she asked.

 Shepard looked up at Kentworth, realization dawning on his features. “Yeah… I think that might be it, now that you mention it. I didn’t grieve for my own loss.”

 “Or maybe you’ve been grieving this whole time. It would explain your struggles coming to terms with your death, how you have nightmares about that night, and your discomfort confronting the death of EDI and the Geth. I believe that you’ve been grieving for everything you lost—not just your life but the potential future it had. When Cerberus brought you back the second chance you had was completely different from what you were presented with the first time. You’d lost two years’ worth of time; the relationships you’d built had changed or completely disintegrated, your time with the Alliance was seemingly done, no chance for promotion. You weren’t living the same life you had left behind, and this scared you.

 “So you grieved. The anger, the hopelessness, the depression, and the death wishes were all symptoms of your grief. You had no one to turn to—at least that was what you thought—until you sought the companionship of Garrus to whom you revealed all of your struggles and regrets to. This opened you up to a new stage in the process. Over time, as the years have passed and you’ve built your life, you’ve now come to the conclusion that maybe you _have_ a _future_. And with that realization comes the knowledge that you could lose it all again. And so, the wound that you thought you’d stitched together has come open, and this time it’s been allowed to fester.”

 Shepard listened attentively, blue eyes focused on her. He didn’t shy away from her reveal nor get angry—shut himself off and refuse to admit when she was right like he had in the past. Instead he watched, listened, and seemed to think deeply about what Kentworth had just proposed.

 Finally, after a few seconds of silence, Shepard spoke.

 “Shit.”

 Kentworth smiled softly. “Does this make sense to you? Do you feel truth to it?”

 He nodded slowly. Putting the needles back in his bag, he sat back on the couch and looked down at his lap, hands locking together. “It makes sense, yeah. I was thinking along those lines but I’d never… never really put it all together like that.”

 “That’s what I’m here for—to make sense out of the noise in your head.”

 Shepard smiled slightly. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

 “I think you just need some proper grief counselling. I also think you need to remind yourself on a daily basis of what you have managed to accomplish and all the good things you have to look forward to. Embrace your new life—it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

 Shepard ran a hand up and over his head, and she noted that the short bristles were a little longer today—like he’d not had the chance, or perhaps the inclination, to cut it so short in strict military fashion.

 When he didn’t say anything for some time, Kentworth knew he was chewing the thought over, and asking him to think about it anymore was just bound to confuse him or perhaps aggravate him. She would leave him with those thoughts and hope he wrote about them further in his journal, or bring them to their next session.

 In the meantime…

 “I’d like to go back to a comment you made earlier,” Kentworth said, drawing Shepard’s attention back to her. “You said that this talk had you thinking about the choices you’ve made—care to elaborate?”

 “Uh, yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I just started to think about my knee.”

 “Thinking about your knee…?”

 “Well I made the decision to keep it because I was afraid of losing more of myself—like I’d just become fully robotic or something if I agreed to the prosthetic. I was… hesitant to lose more of myself. But learning about how much of me is still me has made me second guess my choice.”

 Kentworth nodded and jotted down a few notes. “You regret your decision?”

 Shepard shrugged. “It’s… it’s been getting bad, lately. The physio is helping but I’m still limited. I mean, with Kaidan still working I’ve taken up most of the house chores—I cook, clean, take Cosmo out for walks… kind of act the domestic partner I never thought I’d be… or maybe have the _chance_ to be. But it’s hard to just do simple shit around the house most days. And I don’t want to bother Kaidan about it; I don’t want him to come home to me crippled up on the couch because I tried to clean the bathroom and slipped and pulled a muscle. Plus, there is still the sex thing. I know he doesn’t care but _I_ do. I just want to be like I was before; like I was when we first got together. But I know I never will be and this bothers me—this makes me feel… fuck, I don’t know. Inadequate?”

 “Have you told Kaidan all of this?”

 Shepard nodded. “Kind of. Sometimes. I… try not to.”

 “And why is that?”

 “Because I don’t want him to worry. You see how he fucking worries—it’s like a non-stop faucet of concern from him whenever I say I’m not doing well or I’ve got a leg cramp. I don’t want him to stress himself out, so I keep quiet.”

 Kentworth sighed and put her pen down. “I’m going to give you some relationship advice, and please, take in to consideration you are speaking to a woman who has been married sixty-three years and has had two children with her husband. Relationships are partnerships, John. You both work together to make things work, and that means you need to communicate with one another. If you’re feeling this anxious about your leg, you need to tell Kaidan. Things won’t get better for either of you if you just bottle it up and pretend everything is fine.”

 Shepard looked like he was about to argue, but instead kept quiet, a noticeable pout on his lips. “I just don’t want to stress him out. I want his home life to be worry free.”

 “John… you know that isn’t going to happen. No one’s life is worry free. I agree, Kaidan seems to worry too much, but you also tend to do quite a lot to make him worry. Not on purpose, but you have to understand that some of your issues cannot be ignored and swept under the rug. He cares for you and loves you; of course he’s going to worry. There are ways to alleviate some of his stress, certainly, but remaining silent about these things is just a recipe for disaster.”

 Shepard rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re saying that we’re so busy worrying about one another that we’re actually straining our relationship?”

 “Perhaps,” she said. “How are things at home in general?”

 “It’s… good. I think. Truth be told I’ve never done something like this,” he said.

 “Like what?”

 “Long term committed relationship. I had some guys I fooled around with when I was a teenage, but that was just for fun. When I got into the Alliance I didn’t have the time, or if I did, I didn’t have anyone. Fraternization was against regulation so I just kind of… ignored my urges. I tried to hook up with some guys during my furloughs from time to time, but that was about it. Nothing serious. But with Kaidan it’s… it’s really serious. Like, we own a home together—a fucking _home_.”

 “Do you feel as if your inexperience at these sorts of relationships might harm what you have with Kaidan?”

 “No,” he said immediately, voice strong. “Kaidan and I… we’re dedicated. We’re fully committed. We worked hard to get to this point and we both went into this knowing we wanted it; we wanted everything. The good, the bad, and all the ugly shit in between.” He hesitated, gaze flicking to the side. “And yet…”

 “And yet…?” Kentworth repeated.

 “And yet… I’m still afraid that I’m more than what Kaidan bargained for. He knew I was reckless and had a reputation for being a bit of a jackass, and he knew I had other responsibilities that sometimes came before him but… but that was all before this.” He waved his hand down around his knee and then up to his head, finger tapping the side of his skull. “I don’t know if he was prepared to spend six months by my side in a hospital, or find a home that had only one floor so I didn’t have to use the stairs. Or learn how to help me with my physio therapy so that I could walk again. Or… you know, hold me as I have fucking panic attacks about goddamn memories… he fell in love with Commander Shepard and I feel like I’ve cheated him out of that perfect life.

 “But you know what the worst thing is?” he asked, smiling bitterly. “I’m too selfish to ask him if this is the case—if he feels like he’s only staying with me because I’m an obligation or something. Like I’m someone he can’t leave behind because he’s too much of a good guy to just abandon me, even if he’s fucking sick of the constant doctor’s visits and my own fucked up mind. I’m afraid that if I ask he’ll agree and… yeah.”

 Kentworth frowned as she watched Shepard work himself up, anxiety welling up in his voice and eyes skittering about the room as he spilled out all his insecurities about his relationship.

 “John, look at me,” she said gently. She leaned forward and caught Shepard’s gaze, drawing him back to the room with her. “I want to tell you this and I want you to listen very carefully: I’ve worked with a great many men and women over the years, many of whom had spouses or partners. Do you know how many I’ve worked with that have had such a loving, understanding, and dedicated partner as you do? Very few. Very, very few. Many marriages sadly fall apart once the stresses of a soldier’s mind begin to leak through. On some occasions, domestic violence rates increase, the soldier who I am aiding unable to turn off the switch in their brains that tells them when and when not to fight.

 “Kaidan is incredibly in love with you, John. I only had to speak to him once to notice this, and I daresay it doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see it. If he didn’t, he’d have left by now. He loves you, John, and you need to trust that love. Otherwise…” She shrugged and sat back in her chair. “Men like Kaidan come around once a lifetime. You’re lucky to have found him again in your second life.”

 Shepard chuckled, a soft, almost shy smile on his lips. “I… thanks.”

 Kentworth returned the smile. “I may not be a relationship expert, but I know a good one when I see it. What I suggest you do is this: go home, give him a kiss, and take him out to dinner. Once you’re full of good food and friendly feelings, tell him about your thoughts as of late. Talk about what Miranda revealed about the project; tell him about your struggles with your knee; inform him of your insecurities but with the knowledge that you don’t expect him to _fix_ everything. And then do something romantic for him—light some candles or whatever you do to get the mood going, and… have fun.”

Shepard smirked. “Candles, eh?”

 Kentworth winked. “Enjoy that second life you’ve been gifted, John.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on the update! Got another good one for you, I hope. It's all about Kaidan and how he copes with Shepard's disabilities! So hopefully ya'll like Kaidan :)
> 
> Beta work done by the lovely teadrunktailor.  
> Artwork featured by the lovely knightofbunnies.

Kaidan watched Shepard clean the various pots and pans in the sink, bright white soapy suds clambering up and out of the basin on to his arms, coating him in bubbles. His hands worked with a steadiness Kaidan had come to take for granted, the strength returning slowly but surely as the months went by. His cane, a now constant companion to their lives, rested against the back of Shepard’s chair at his mother’s dining room table, far enough that Shepard would have to take a few steps without it, but close enough he could grab it if he needed it.

 “You’re staring,” Shepard mumbled, his attention half on the pot he was scrubbing and half on Kaidan, a wry smile on his lips.

 Kaidan chuckled. “Sorry,” he replied. Scooting a little closer, he watched as Shepard finished off the big cast iron pot his mother had used to cook the stew. Reaching out, he tried to help him lift it out of the sink and on to the dishrack but was quickly shooed away, Shepard bumping him with his hip.

 “I can lift a pot out of the sink, Kaidan,” Shepard said.

 Kaidan frowned. It was a heavy pot, one that had survived his childhood, a couple of burned stews, a fire, and a Reaper War. If Shepard dropped it—if his arms failed him in the last minute—the ego blow to Shepard alone would be enough to ruin his evening. Not to mention the potential for re-injury and—

“Kaidan,” Shepard’s voice broke Kaidan from his worries, and he looked over to see Shepard had moved the pot without trouble. He ignored Shepard’s exasperated tone and locked eyes with him.

 “You’re hovering,” Shepard continued. “I’m perfectly capable of doing the dishes by myself. You should go sit with your mother on the balcony. Gossip about me and ask her if she approves or whatever.”

 “We’re not going to gossip about you,” Kaidan said, frowning.

 Shepard sighed. “K, you just brought your partner back home to ‘meet the parent’. I may not have grown up with a mother but I know how this shit works. We have dinner, I try and impress, you fuss and worry over every little interaction your mother and I have, and then, when I’m doing the dishes and putting on a good show, you go ask your mum if she thinks I’m the right ‘fit’ for her _only_ child.”

 Kaidan blinked. “You read that in a book or something?” he asked, unable to hide an amused smile.

 Shepard blushed and looked back down at the dishes. Grabbing another pot he began to scrub, water sloshing about. “I saw it on a vid when I was in the hospital.”

 “What vid?”

 Shepard was silent for a second before, “Fleet and Flotilla Two. There wasn’t a hell of a lot of shit to watch, okay? Now go—talk to your mum and stop hovering. You can hover over me when we get home.”

 Kaidan laughed and shoved himself off of the counter. _If he wants to do the dishes alone, let him. You were told not to coddle him by his doctors so… relax. Talk to mum._

 Stepping out on to the front balcony that overlooked the now murky, rubble-marred waters of English Bay, Kaidan spotted his mother sitting on her favourite chair, legs curled up and a glass of unfinished wine in her grasp. She looked up at him and smiled, hand patting the chair next to her.

 “Have a seat, love,” she said.

  Doing just that, Kaidan sighed and peered out into the Bay. Vancouver wasn’t how he remembered it. The busy skyline was now covered with construction cranes and scaffolding, people still rebuilding even a year after the last of the Reapers had collapsed. Rubble was still strewn about, and every now and again, reports of bodies found under the rubble or in the basement of a building came in. The fertile land was dead in most places, the greenery of Vancouver almost non-existent.

 But just outside Vancouver and the greater area, the land was returning to what it once was, the red wood forests relatively untouched by the Reaper armies. It was green and lush in many places, and smelled like life. That was where Kaidan and Shepard had decided to begin their life together.

 But getting his mother to leave Vancouver had been impossible.

  _‘I can’t leave this house,’ she’d said. ‘You father and I had—_ have _too many memories here. I can’t just leave—not with everything that has happened.’_

Kaidan understood. He’d spent all his nights on the Normandy after the war, sitting in Shepard’s old room just trying to surround himself with everything that was Shepard, desperate to remember the way he smelled and sounded, and the touch of his lips against his. But he was lucky; Shepard was waiting for him to come back home, banged up and struggling but still _alive_.

 His father…

 They hadn’t found a body yet.

 “How is John doing with the pots?” she asked, breaking the silence between them. “It was kind of him to offer to clean up. That leg can’t be easy to work with.”

 “He’s doing alright. It’s keeping him busy,” Kaidan said. “He’s the type who likes to do stuff like that, you know? Always tinkering away at things. Keeps the hands busy.”

 “And the mind,” she added. She turned to look at Kaidan, tiredness in her gaze that Kaidan hated to see. “Your father was much the same after he returned from duty. Always puttering about the house—keeping himself moving even when there was nothing to do. It used to drive me crazy.”

 Kaidan smiled and reached out to brush grey hairs behind her ear. “I remember you’d joke about buying a storage unit down by the docks just so he could house all his pet projects down there.”

 She smiled, but it was tight and forced, held only together by her strength of will. Looking back at the Bay, she sipped her wine and curled in a little tighter. “We might need to keep that thought in mind, eh? If John is anything like your father in that respect you’ll be neck deep in bizarre projects in no time.”

 “He’s got a love for making model ships,” Kaidan said, relieved she was changing the subject. 

“Maybe I’ll buy him a few for the holidays.”

 Kaidan nodded. “Yeah, I think… I think he’d like that.”

 Kaidan sat and waited as patiently as he could, wanting to ask what she thought of John. Eventually it became too much, and he turned in his seat to face his mother, ignoring the way his stomach clenched painfully in anticipation.

 “So… what do you think?”

 She quirked a brow and turned slowly to look at him. “Think of John?”

 Kaidan nodded.

 “He’s handsome,” she said, smiling. “Much better looking in person than on the vids I’ve seen—he’s always glowering and looking so stern.”

 Chuckling, Kaidan ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s uh… he smiles more in person.”

 “Not a lot, but yes.”

 Kaidan frowned then. “What do you mean?”

 His mother sighed and placed her glass down on the floor beside her chair. Reaching out, she grasped Kaidan’s hand in her own, thumb rubbing up and down. “John is lovely, Kaidan, and I approve. I’m glad he makes you happy.”

 “But…”

 “But… he’s deeply damaged, love. I’ve seen these men before when I traveled from posting to posting with your father. They’ve… experienced a lot and seen even more and… it’s hard, Kaidan, to love a person like that.”

 “I’m not ignorant to military men, mum. I’m one myself,” he said, a bit defensively.

 “I know, I know. And I’m not telling you that you should abandon John. I’m not saying any of that. I’m just worried that you don’t know how much work this is going to be. He’s physically handicapped and you’ve already had to make multiple accommodations and changes to your routine, which I know seem manageable now but they’ll start to build up over time. And he’s haunted, love. He’s not present when you speak to him—he’s struggling inside. Even I can see that. It’s not going to be easy and I just… I want you to know that I’m going to worry about you—about both of you. It’s a mother’s job to worry.”

 Kaidan tried to quell the anger and frustration coiling up inside him. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go; she was supposed to say she loved him, she approved, and that they’d be together forever, or something as sappy and picture perfect as that. Instead she was telling him cold hard truths he’d been wrestling with himself for the past six months.

 As he filled the role of Shepard’s ‘primary caregiver,’ he’d been inundated with information about how things weren’t the same and they never would be. He’d been given lists of pills and when Shepard had to take them, gone over procedures with doctors and physiotherapists on how to aid him with day-to- day things, and told time and time again that everything was going to be much more difficult. Shepard couldn’t move like he used to, couldn’t do the jobs that he used to, couldn’t laugh and joke and converse like he used to. Everything was shrouded by a sense of grief and guilt and loss, and try as they both might, it wasn’t as easy to shrug off as they’d both hoped.

 “But it’s worth it,” he said, conviction in his voice. “I know you worry, mum, and I wish I could say that everything is easy, but it isn’t—you’re right. But it’s worth it because I love him. And he loves me. If dad came back from the Blitz like this would you have left?”

 Colour came to her cheeks and her thumb stopped rubbing circles on his hand. “No, of course not,” she said quickly.

 “Then let me be stubborn and foolish, okay? John is… John is _it_ , mum. He’s the one. So let me continue to pretend like everything is normal and just… let me live in the illusion?”

 She reached up and cupped his cheek, her deep brown eyes locking with his own identical pair. She looked old and tired, grief and stress wearing her down so much over the last few years. Kaidan just wanted to make everything better—for her, for John, for the whole fucking galaxy if he could. And yet here he was, adding to her stress by loving a man who was, as she said, deeply damaged.

 Perhaps beyond repair.

 But he had to fucking try.

“He’s lucky to have you, Kaidan.”

 “I’m lucky to have him,” he said.

XX

 

“To be perfectly honest, Tuchanka is the last place I’d go on vacation.”

 Kaidan laughed. “John’s always gone against the grain.”

 Kentworth sat in her office near the window, Kaidan across from her in civilian clothing, hands shoved in the pockets of an N7 hoodie she knew didn’t belong to him but rather to the man they’d come to talk about.

 Shepard had decided to go on ‘vacation’ a few weeks back, desperate for a change of scenery and a chance to travel through space again. He’d told Kentworth about it, mulling over where he should go—or rather, where was available to go—before settling on Tuchanka. Kentworth had been surprised at first, finding it hard to believe anyone could relax at Tuchanka, but it made sense the longer she pondered it. His connection to the people there was obvious, Shepard finding a little bit of himself in Wrex and the strict warrior sentiment of the Krogan culture. As well, they both agreed it would be good for him to go somewhere that wouldn’t coddle him. He needed to feel normal just for a little while, and Wrex and Grunt had promised Shepard they’d do what they did best:

_‘Shoot shit,’ Shepard had said with a shrug._

  For Kentworth, the trip offered her a chance to prove to Shepard that he could move on with his life—even improve it—just like the Krogans were. He had said time and time again that he needed to see results; he needed to see the change for himself. This was the perfect opportunity, and Kentworth was eager to hear what he had to say when he came back.

 With Shepard gone for a week, this left Kentworth with some open slots on her timetable, and it was agreed by both she and Shepard that it wouldn’t hurt to bring Kaidan back in order to get a feel for their home life.

 And thus Kaidan arrived a few days after Shepard had left for his trip, clad in civilian clothing with a red toque stuffed in his pocket, a grin on his face as he told her Shepard had knitted it for him.

 “Did he reach Tuchanka alright?” she asked, watching as Kaidan poured himself a glass of water.

 “Yeah, he got there safe and sound. He sent me some photos of baby Krogan already. They’re actually kind of cute,” Kaidan replied. He was relaxed and smiling, his manner much more friendly than Shepard’s. Kentworth worked with so many angry, volatile men and women that it was sometimes almost strange to see someone who was, by all intent and purpose, well-adjusted.

 “Did he bring his medications like I asked him to?”

 Kaidan nodded. “Yep—I saw him put it in his bag and everything. He does listen to you, you know. Not all the time, but he’s been getting better at really applying what you’ve suggested.”

 “Well that’s good to hear. Surprising, but pleasantly so.” She smiled and jotted down some notes before flicking on the recorder. “I’d like to talk about that in just a bit, but first I think we should start once again, from the beginning. Could you tell me what it was like to live with John before he began his therapy sessions? Maybe give me a brief picture of what a typical day in the Alenko-Shepard household was like?”

 “Alright.” Kaidan sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “We had a routine pretty early on once he was released from the hospital. I think it was mostly because we’re both used to that kind of thing—routines, I mean. We’d wake up, I’d make the morning coffee and John would make us breakfast; he’d then go off and do some of his physio exercises before taking all his medications for the day while I’d go to work, come home, and John would have done stuff around the house—clean and tidy stuff, uh… maybe go grocery shopping… small things like that. And then we’d have dinner and just… spend time together before bed. Where I would proceed to sleep and John would patrol the house and stare out windows in the middle of the night.”

  _Sleeping issues—check._

 “And how was John emotionally back then?”

 Kaidan’s brows furrowed, eye contact breaking to look down at the table. “He was… he was… distant. Yeah, I think I’d say distant. And frustrated.” He looked back up at Kentworth. “He was always focused on me when I was around, but say I left to go to the washroom, I’d come back and he’d just be staring—looking out windows or checking the doors. He’d be focused on that and not realize I was with him again until I touched him or spoke to him. It would be really noticeable when we went out together with other people. I’d talk with everyone but he’d just… slink off to the side and stare off into space. My mum noticed it right away.”

 “Checking doors?” she inquired, fixated on that comment.

 “Yeah; he wanted to see if they were locked or if anyone was trying to come in. He… he was really vigilant. He still is, to a certain extent, but it’s not as bad as it once was.”

 She remembered Shepard telling her about how he’d physically stalk the perimeter of their property, looking out for potential threats that could ‘kill Kaidan as he slept’.

 “When he first arrived at my office I found it difficult to get his attention away from the doors and windows,” Kentworth said. “Was that what you are referencing?”

 “Yeah, pretty much that. I’ve seen it before, you know, with other soldiers. I do it sometimes too—it’s a habit to check your surroundings. But… John… John can get a little obsessive about it.”

 “And what about now?”

 “It’s not as bad. He’s stopped walking the perimeter of the house every night before bed. He’s also a little more comfortable sitting in open spaces. I think Cosmo’s helped with that. He’s kind of become Shepard’s security blanket in a way… don’t tell him I said that, though.” He smiled ruefully.

 Kentworth winked. “I won’t tell a soul. But I’m glad to hear that Cosmo is doing his job. He’s there to keep John feeling safe and protected, and to keep his anxiety levels down.”

 Kaidan nodded. “Yeah, he’s been a great addition to the family. He’s helped me, too. Like, I’m not always watching John and worrying about him like I used to. I know that with Cosmo, John’s got someone with him throughout the day—someone who is in tune with his emotions. Probably more than I am, to be honest.”

 “Dogs are remarkable animals when it comes to that sort of thing.”

 “I agree. It’s been good.”

 “Going back to his emotions,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “You said he was distant and frustrated. Could you elaborate?”

 “Sure,” he said. Sitting up straight he shoved his hands back in the pockets of the hoodie. “Shepard has always been… tense, I guess you could say; really just a high strung kind of guy in general. But he had an outlet back when he was in the Alliance. He just threw himself into his work and got lost in what he was doing. When he was out on the battlefield he was graceful, you know? He was so focused and so skilled. But then… then he couldn’t do it anymore. He got really banged up after the war—I mean, _really_ banged up. I saw him for the first time months into his recovery and he was still hooked up to all these wires and scheduled for all these other surgeries… he was a mess. And we both knew at the time that he’d be let go from the Alliance, but we never talked about it. I should have prepared for it—we both should have. We should have found something for him to do but… we didn’t. I don’t know why. Maybe we uh, thought it would work out differently. Like, maybe he’d suddenly be able to walk and move like he used to but… yeah.”

 Kentworth nodded. It made sense—Shepard’s life revolved around his physicality and his ties to the Alliance. Take that away and, well… she’d been dealing with the results for months now.

 “When he got released from the hospital he got really frustrated with everything,” Kaidan continued. “He didn’t want to use his cane, he didn’t want to go to physio, didn’t want to change his workout routine—he didn’t want to _change_. Then he was discharged from the Alliance and he started to shut down; he wasn’t even yelling or arguing or fighting it. It was like he just passed all those emotions and went straight to numb and distant… It was odd to see.”

 “To see Shepard shut down?” she asked.

 Kaidan’s reached for his water and took a long drink, humming in agreement. “Shepard’s a fighter—it’s what he does. He fought Saren even when it looked hopeless, he fought the Collectors, the Reapers—he always fought, no matter the odds. But then this happens and… he shut down. He uh, he… gave up, I guess you could say. I think he was just tired.”

_Foreshortened sense of a future—check._

  Kentworth let Kaidan sit for a moment and collect his thoughts while she scribbled down some notes, wanting to compare Kaidan’s psych profile of Shepard to her profile of him now.

 “And what about you? Were you growing tired?” she asked, putting her pen down.

 Kaidan shrugged. “I wasn’t burned out yet—no. I was certain he’d get back up on his feet; I had to be. If I lost faith in him then he’d just… I don’t know. I didn’t really want to think about it, you know? I stayed positive because I knew things would work out. I knew we’d figure it out together.”

 “And how were things when with his knee and the changes his body had undergone during his stay in the hospital?”

 “A bit of a shit show—pardon my language, ma’am,” he smiled tightly. “But yeah, it was bad. He’d lost a lot of weight in the hospital, and I think physically seeing the change was… yeah… yeah, that messed him up. He thought he should look like he used to.”

 “He mentioned feeling self-conscious about his body a few times,” she said. “It came up when discussing your sex life.”

 Kaidan rolled his eyes and blew hard through his nose. “I keep telling him he’s being ridiculous about it. Yeah, he’s got some new scars and yeah, maybe he doesn’t have the muscle mass he once did, but he’s still attractive. I mean, you’ve seen him: the guy could still bench-press a Krogan if he wanted to, you know?”

 Kentworth chuckled; bench-pressing a Krogan seemed a little ridiculous.

“And the sex is fine—I mean, it is _better_ than fine,” Kaidan continued. “He keeps saying he should ‘perform’ like he used to, but he forgets that the times we had together were… rushed. Not to mention everything was overshadowed by the fact that we could die the next day. Now? Now we have all the time in the world. So what if we can’t do everything we used to. There’s still… I mean, well… there are still things men can do with each other that doesn’t strain him.”

 He was blushing but maintaining eye contact—something Shepard seemed unable to do whenever anything about his sex life came up.

_Talk about shooting a man? That’s alright. Talk about loving a man? Oh dear lord._

 “Do you think your constant reassurances have helped?” Kentworth inquired.

 “Maybe? I uh… I don’t know. We work out together and I’ve been keeping track of everything he’s able to do. He’s been progressing and I know he can see that. Still… doesn’t hurt to tell him how good he looks now and again.” He smiled slightly.

 Kentworth suspected ‘now and again’ really meant ‘every day.’

 “And what about his leg? How was he coping then?” she inquired.

 “That was a tough thing to deal with. I mean… it was a big change—for both of us. It causes him a lot of pain because he can’t do the things he used to be able to, which stresses him out in turn. I’ve had to watch over him, almost, just in case he falls or something. And… it’s been stressful, yeah. Like, I never understood for the longest time why he kept it,” Kaidan explained, frustration evident in his tone.

 “Has he told you why since?”

 Kaidan nodded. “He finally explained after he started to see you. I mean… I get it, you know? I know why he’s kept it but… but it’s still… you know?”

 “You still see how he struggles with it. And you feel that all of the pain both physically and emotionally it’s caused him isn’t worth it? she offered, trying to help Kaidan along.

 “Yeah, basically. I know that sounds awful, right? I think he should amputate his leg because it’s an inconvenience but… it’s hurting him, you know? It’s hurting him and that hurts me, and I just feel like he should let go of it,” Kaidan said. He shifted in his chair, arm draped across the armrest. “I know it’s easy for me to say that, not being the one with the choice to amputate, but… I don’t know. He’s got his reasons so I try and respect them.”

 “Do you think speaking to Ms. Lawson helped with that?”

 “A bit, yeah,” Kaidan replied. “He’s been talking about his leg a lot—making sounds like he’s been thinking about it, at the very least. Maybe that’s a good sign, but…”

 He shrugged.

 “And how were his sleeping habits?”

 Kaidan frowned, thick brows pressing close together. “John’s never slept well, as long as I’ve known him. I mean, intimately known him.”

 “He slept poorly back on the Normandy?” she asked, not at all surprised that his issues with sleep began long before the Reaper War.

 “Yes,” he said. “First time I slept next to him I woke up to find him dressed and at his terminal, hours into a report he was writing. The next night he was having night terrors. It just continued like that for weeks until… well, until we went to Earth. I always thought it was because of the war, you know? We were under so much stress and no one was sleeping well. But then when he was in the hospital his doctors told me that he didn’t get much sleep—not because he was in pain but because he just _didn’t sleep._ Then we moved in together I saw the full extent of it.”

 “And now?”

 “It’s marginally better?” he said, sounding unsure. “He sleeps a little longer, and he’s been taking naps. Caught him curled up on the couch with Cosmo once. Also, if he’s not asleep he stays in bed with me until I wake up. Before he’d get up and just wander the house. It’s kind of nice, you know, waking up next to him curled up in my arms…”

 “Has he told you why he struggles with sleep?” Kentworth inquired, noting how Kaidan’s expression changed the second he began speaking about something positive in their relationship. Despite the stresses Kaidan was describing, the look he got when he talked about their mornings together…

“No,” Kaidan said. “I’ve asked, but he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

 Kentworth made a note of that. She’d told him to be open and honest with Kaidan about his struggles and why he did what he did, but it seemed he wasn’t telling him everything. The whole ‘don’t tell anyone your issues and maybe it’ll go away’ was deeply engrained in Shepard, so much so that she was beginning to wonder if he’d ever really agree to the group sessions she knew would benefit him.

 “Think back to the incident that brought John to my office,” she began, deciding to save her frustrations with his lack of communication for another day. “Were there any indications beforehand that John had any triggers? That he was capable of acting violent in unexpected ways?”

 Kaidan looked back down at the coffee table, attention focused on the glass of water before him. “You know… John’s always been sort of aggressive. He grew up on the streets and has told me some pretty terrible things he had to do to stay alive. Then in the military, all they do is train you to kill, you know? So it’s understandable that a guy would react that way. But he’s never set out to hurt someone, and he’s never hurt anyone close to him. He’s kind of… he’s really gentle to those he cares about. He’s never hurt me, outside of an accident during a sparring match. And you should see him around Tali—he treats her like she’s made of glass…” He looked back up at Kentworth. “So when you ask me if I thought he was capable? I don’t know, to tell you the truth. On the one hand, yeah… yeah I did know. And on the other; no, I didn’t think he was.”

 “That must have been an eye opening moment,” she said, admiring how truthful and yet careful Kaidan was with his words. Not many people were willing to admit that they blinded themselves to the darker elements of their partner’s mental illness.

 “It was, yeah,” Kaidan said. “It was that night that I think he finally recognized that this wasn’t going away. I had been telling him he should talk to someone for months before the incident, but he was adamant that he didn’t need help. He took it almost… almost like I was _insulting_ him by suggesting he might need help. Like it was a personal affront to him that I suggest he might need assistance, you know? And I get it—I know why. He’s deeply protective of his image as the strong leader who doesn’t need help. Sometimes I felt like maybe he thought he should be more than human—like he shouldn’t get sick or suffer like the rest of us, you know?

 “And it was… it was weird. Because I had been spending so much time with him that I was starting to think that his behaviour was normal—that the late night perimeter walks, the lack of sleep, the detach-ness, his obsession with death, how he cut himself off from the rest of the world… I just thought it was who he was. But it wasn’t, and it took something really… something really bad to happen before I snapped out of it and remembered that this could get worse—that it was already really, really bad.”

 “And how did you feel during all of this?” she asked, honestly worried for Kaidan. He seemed like someone who constantly put others before him, and would allow his concern for others get in the way of his own self-care.

 “I was stressed, to be honest,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, a curly strand coming loose from its gelled hold. “I mean, I love John. I love him so goddamn much, you know? So much that I was willing to just let myself be dragged down into that pit along with him. I… I spent most of my time with him and when we were together things were… things were fine. He laughed and smiled, he made jokes—he was with me, fully present. But I couldn’t always be with him. I had to go to work and he was left alone just getting steadily worse. So I… I uh, started to get sick. Turns out I had stomach ulcers because I was worrying. Didn’t tell John that because, again, I didn’t want to worry him.”

 “Have you sought help at all?” she asked, “There are many services available to you—people you can talk to. I could get you in contact with them.”

 Kaidan shook his head. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m doing better now. Thanks in no small part to you.”

 And that was why she did her job. To hear someone say that, and to know you’d help stabilize and improve the life of a man—or in this case, two men—who had gone to hell together but not quite managed to get back. Almost seventy years in the business and the thrill of helping someone was still there.

 “I’m glad that John’s sessions with me have helped. However, I should be thanking you—without your help and your love, I fear what might have happened to John. You’re his lifeline,” she said. “But I urge you to remember that sometimes you _have_ to put yourself first. You need to take care of yourself as well. I know it can be isolating sometimes, and I just ask that if you ever feel overwhelmed that you _will_ talk to someone.”

 “I know, ma’am, and I will keep that in mind. This vacation has been good for the both of us, I think. It gives me some, uh… recharge time. And it lets us know we can function apart from one another.” Kaidan held her gaze, but there was a blush on his cheeks that spoke of embarrassment. “And I don’t know if I deserve that praise, but thank you, ma’am.”

 “You deserve all of it and a great deal more,” Kentworth said with admiration. “It takes a certain inner strength to help a person like John. And it takes even more strength to recognize when you’re in over your head. Seeking help was the best thing you could have done.”

 “I’ll tell him this next time he thinks I’m worrying too much,” he joked.

 Kentworth took a sip of her tea, Kaidan doing the same with his water. Now it was time for the positive changes—or what she hoped were positive changes. This was the moment of truth; had all of John’s hard work and Kentworth’s guidance made any noticeable change to those around him?

 “How have things changed since he began coming here?” she asked carefully, placing her teacup down on the table beside her.

  “He’s just… he’s happier,” Kaidan said, relief in his voice. “I’m starting to feel like he’s just happy to be alive. He’s more present in conversations; he’s less paranoid about his surroundings; he’s been talking about the _future_ and what he wants to do. Before it was like pulling teeth to get him to think about doing anything with his life, but now he’s finally moving on from the Alliance—talking about what he wants to do now that he’s not constrained by the military. He’s also been coping with things better. Before he uh, he would just, you know, shut down or, in that extreme case, hit something. Like walls.” They both glanced up at the hole in the wall, still covered up half-hazardly with a plate. “But he’s managing his emotions better. He still doesn’t sleep well, and he sometimes shuts down now and again; he’s still moody about talking to certain people, and he refuses to visit any war memorials or the Normandy. But he’s… _improving_. Yeah, he’s improving.”

 “How is he managing with his death? Does he speak about it much?”

 “Miranda coming helped with that. She answered a lot of his questions. Mine as well. I think he’ll always struggle with it and I can’t blame him. But he’s less… afraid of it, I think. He told me you said it’s like he’s been grieving. I think that makes sense. And I think him knowing this has helped him.”

 “And you? How are you doing?” she asked.

 “I’m doing… I’m doing really good, yeah. Seeing him move on is letting me move on. I can go to work now and not feel guilty about it. I don’t worry as much as I used to. I’m just… yeah, I’m feeling good. I’m feeling… hopeful.” He smiled then—warm and genuine and honest—and Kentworth wouldn’t help but return it.

 “John has come a long way since I met him months ago,” Kentworth said. “And I’m glad to see that he’s improved outside of these four walls. I had worried he was going home and just getting back into the same thought patterns he’d been living with for years. But I’m happy to know that all his hard work—and your hard work—is paying off. I trust you realize that this will always be a struggle; that John will stumble and fall, and may even relapse into some of his darker thoughts. He’ll never be as he once was, and he’ll always have to work hard, but he _is_ healing.”

 Kaidan nodded. Shoving his hands back in the hoodie’s pockets, he sat a little straighter. “Yeah, I get that. He’s going to have ticks and quirks and I’m always going to worry about him a little bit, but… it’s worth it. It’s so worth it. My mum said it would be a struggle and it was—it is—but it’s worth it. Because when I wake up and see John beside me, smiling and warm and welcoming, it’s… it’s everything to me. John is my guy. We’re brothers in arms, you know? We’re in this till the end.”

 “John’s fortunate to have you in his life, Kaidan.”

 “I’m lucky to have him, ma’am,” Kaidan replied.

_Any more of this and I might actually develop a cavity._

 “Right—well now that we know all this, let’s talk about ways to make things just that much easier for you two back home, shall we?”

 Kaidan nodded and sat forward. “I’m all ears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS- Shepard made Kaidan's toque because he's got mad knitting skillz


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update time! Thanks again for all your support and your enjoyment of this story! We're coming up to the end (only a couple of therapy chapters left!), but some big changes are coming Shepard (and Kaidan's) way!
> 
> Big thanks to teadrunktailor for the wonderful beta job.

 His lungs burned with each laboured breath and his muscles felt like they were on fire. Sweat beaded down his brow and across his back, soft cotton shirt sticking to him like a second skin. All he wanted to do was lie down for just a little while—collapse in the middle of the arena with the rest of the recruits and take what little reprieve he could from the sweltering heat and the screaming of his lungs and muscles.

Instead Shepard stayed standing, attention focused on those still doing their final lap around the arena, each one looking more and more bedraggled. They’d all been made to run six laps around the field, the environment that of a tropical rainforest—hot and humid and capable of sucking everything right out of you. But Shepard didn’t let that faze him. He just tuned it out; kept focused on his heart rhythm and water consumption and didn’t think about how the muscles in his legs screamed with every step, or how his newly installed biotic amp send little jolts of electricity through his neck and spine anytime he fell too hard on his left leg.

 All that mattered was finishing and staying standing at the end of it all. Marines didn’t collapse, didn’t complain, didn’t worry if they were pushing themselves too far; they focused on how far ahead the next guy was, if they were beating their best time even by a few seconds, and how many more brutal tasks they could overcome.

_Give me your best shot; you won’t fucking break me._

“Shepard!”

 The voice of Shepard’s PT instructor pulled his attention away from the finish line as the last of the recruits crossed it. Turning around he snapped to attention, ignoring the protests his muscles made as he raised his hand and saluted.

 “Sir, yes, sir,” he said, staring past his PT instructor and into the holographic jungle.

 “At ease, Shepard,” the man said.

 Spreading his legs out slightly, Shepard tucked his hands behind his back and relaxed his shoulders just a touch. Looking over at his instructor, Cranston, he locked eyes with the shorter man, blinking away the sweat that dripped into his vision.

 “You did well,” Cranston said, his voice smooth and level, not at all like the rest of them, panting and deep breaths in between every syllable. Cranston rarely did anything with ‘his men,’ instead deciding to let them work their asses off while he wrote shit down on a clipboard.

 He pissed Shepard off; especially when he was the one judging him, making notes on his failures and grudgingly praising him on his victories—if he remembered to record them.

 “Thank you, sir,” he said, keeping his voice as level as Cranston, not wanting to show him how much he fucking hurt.

_Pain is the name of the game—you’ve been through worse, like slicing your head open on that glass bottle in the shitty playground when you were a kid. Bled like a stuffed pig but you made it. This is fucking easy._

 “You broke the track record by one minute and twelve seconds,” Cranston said.

 Shepard tried hard not to smirk. “Just doing my best, sir.”

 Cranston grunted and gave Shepard a once-over. “A year ago you looked like some bean-pole with Salarian arms and legs that were only good for running from the authorities. You may just prove to be worth all my time and effort,” he said, albeit a bit begrudgingly.

 Shepard tried very hard not to show the surprise on his face, and instead stood a little taller, ignoring the envious looks from the other recruits as they stayed flopped on the ground, boneless from the run.

 “Thank you, sir,”

 Cranston grunted again. “Don’t let this get to your head, you hear me? You’re good but you’re not that good. A Turian grandmother could outrun you if she tried.” He turned around to look at the rest of the recruits. “Alright, everyone up and to the showers—you all smell like shit.”

 Grabbing his canteen, Shepard drank the rest of his water as everyone marched back to the barracks, the fake jungle disappearing in a mangle of pixels, revealing the vast, empty space of the virtual arena.

 He felt someone slide up next to him and glanced over at Truman, one of the few recruits Shepard worked well together with. Everyone else complained too much, their childhood one of privilege and comfort, their acceptance into the Alliance’s best academy based more on who their parents were than on their skill and dedication. Ungrateful fucks.

 “Nice going out there, Shep,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Never seen Cranston look so pissed to hand out a compliment.”

 Shepard grinned. “He may take the piss out of me, but running from the authorities for my entire childhood _was_ good for something.

XX

 “Tuchanka is warmer than here. I’m fucking freezing.”

 “Well, it is late autumn. Vancouver tends to get very wet. We might even have snow this year.”

 Shepard let out a loud groan and pressed his forehead against the window he was looking out. Kentworth watched him with some amusement, Shepard acting more like a teenager than a thirty-four year old ex-marine.

 “Did you know they have tropical plant life in Tuchanka?” he asked, forehead still pressed against the window. She had to turn to hear him, voice muffled by his hunched over position. He didn’t look agitated however, and so she let him stand.

 “I had seen photographs back when they first started to rebuild. Have they continued to let the local fauna grow?” she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

 Turning around, Shepard nodded. Grabbing his cane he slowly walked back to the couch and sat down with a groan, leg stretching out in front of him, an audible pop accompanying the action. “It’s pretty remarkable now. When I was first there it was just a planet made of rubble and sand. Even their own homes had massive holes in the roofs and exposed rebar. Wrex sat on a throne made of rubble. Sand got fucking everything—you’d try and breathe in and you’d get half air and half grit. But now…”

 “Now it’s prospering?” she asked.

 “Now it’s more than prospering,” Shepard said enthusiastically. “A Salarian I ran into a few years back was working on a cure for the genophage. The guy was… he was really fucked up by what he’d done in the past. His research methods were entirely unethical but he said some stuff that really got me thinking. He said that if the genophage had been cured rather than modified, the Krogans would have been experiencing a culture renaissance. And that’s what’s happening now. It’s… it’s _amazing_ to see, ma’am.”

 Kentworth smiled, delighted in Shepard’s enthusiasm. It seemed his two week-long vacation had done him good. He came back looking brighter in the eyes and with more colour on his cheeks. The haggard, bogged down appearance that covered him like a mourning shroud was gone—at least for the time being. He seemed rejuvenated.

 “Why don’t you tell me all about your trip,” she suggested, watching as Shepard worked at a muscle in his lower thigh.

 “The ride over was good,” he began, grimacing as he pressed into the knot. “I hadn’t been in space for two years, which is odd to think about considering I spent years living on a ship. But it was good to feel the familiar hum of the engines and watch the crew work. I’m not used to the make of ship I traveled on—it was louder and slower than the Normandy—but she got the job done.”

 “How did it feel to be a passenger rather than the commander of the ship?”

 Shepard shrugged. “Fine. It was nice to just… observe. I didn’t have that luxury before. Everyone always needed something or I’d find something to do. But I just got to sit and watch.”

 “You didn’t try and get in the way at any point? Maybe try and dictate what should be done?” she inquired, wanting to see how far his need to control went.

 “No, ma’am,” he replied, smirking slightly. “I don’t know the first thing about running a passenger ship. If I did… well, maybe then I’d have said something.”

 Kentworth sighed and rolled her eyes, an amused smile tugging at her lips. “Well I guess that’s a good thing then. I wouldn’t want you working while on your vacation.”

 “Oh, I worked,” he said. He was still smiling. “I did a lot of consulting work while I was on Tuchanka; mostly about military forces and organizations. Wrex was asking. They’re thinking of creating a unified, standing army. No thought of violent expansion or anything, but they recognize the important of having a united military front, rather than the collection of clans they had before.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. The Krogans were asking a human for military consultation?

 “And how did that make you feel? Being asked to help with that?”

 Shepard sat back and locked his fingers together, resting them on his stomach. He pursed his lips, seemingly deep in thought, before speaking. “It made me feel like I had a purpose for a change. Yeah, it felt good. I mean, I’ve been wandering a bit aimlessly, you know, since… since the Alliance. But here I was, helping and organizing and doing something I knew I was good at. It made me feel needed again. I hadn’t felt that in a long while.”

 “That’s very good,” Kentworth said. “Your lack of anything to do was causing you some stress. Do you think that maybe this could become a full time thing for you? Or maybe even part-time? Something to do to pass some time at the very least...”

 “Doing what? Consulting work?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

 “I don’t see why not; you clearly have the experience, the knowledge, and you’ve already got the interest. Having you assist in military efforts would be a highly sought after asset. Not to mention it could do your mental health some good. You’ve got a variety of hobbies but I think a career helping to do what you clearly love would be of benefit to you. At the very least it is worth some consideration.”

  _It would also get you to recognize you’re more than the Alliance, and that you have something to offer this world, even if you think you don’t_.

 Shepard nodded slowly; the idea obviously had some merit with him, otherwise he would have just shrugged it away and pretended she hadn’t said a thing.

 “Maybe. I hadn’t thought of it like that but… yeah, maybe. I could start my own business selling dog sweaters.”

 “You could. You could run it just the way you like. It might give you that sense of control again, too. Like I said, it’s worth a thought. You should mull it over.”

 “Mull it and a hell of a lot of other things over, too,” Shepard said, sighing heavily.

 Kentworth cocked her head slightly to the side. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately? About what?”

 Shepard ran a hand over his head, buzzed hair once again shorn. He glanced around the room, looking at anything but her, as if he was… embarrassed by what he was about to say.

 “You remember that time you said the Krogan and I had a lot in common?” he began.

 Yes, he looked very, very sheepish.

 “I remember, yes.”

 “And I kind of… scoffed at the idea that we were similar? And you said I should see the changes for myself and I just shrugged it off?”

 She nodded. “Yes, I remember something similar to that effect.”

 Shepard sighed. “Well… I think you were right.”

 Kentworth didn’t smile or hoot and holler in victory, but she did feel a small swell of pride in her chest. _Of course I was right—I know these things._ “How do you mean?” she prompted.

 “Seeing the Krogan now and comparing it to how they were when I first met Wrex and… the change was undeniable,” he said. The passion was back in his voice. “They’ve reclaimed so much of the land their ancestors had stripped bare, and everything is coming back. The vegetation, the architecture, the art and culture—their sense of _hope_. Before, all they had was nothing. I mean, no hope, no future—nothing at all. Wrex hoped for better but even I think he thought it might be a lost cause. But then Mordin cured them and… it’s amazing, ma’am. Simply amazing.

 “I stayed with Wrex most of the time, but I went off and spent a few days with Eve and the women. I played with the children, and I never thought I’d get to do that, you know? Just to see a small Krogan child—not even to interact with one but just _see_ one. They were all healthy, happy, hopeful kids who had dreams and ambitions and desires just like anyone else. And you know what the most remarkable thing was? Not all of these kids wanted to grow up to be warriors. Some wanted to be doctors or farmers—some even wanted to be artists. How amazing is that? A culture that everyone just believed to be filled with mindless mercs looking for the next kill actually had something more to offer. And they aren’t squandering the second chance they’ve been given. Wrex and Eve are working with all the clans, who are in turn working together to make something of themselves; to truly be a part of this galaxy. They’ve gotten back their sense of _pride_.”

 He’d come alive as he spoke. Kentworth had only seen that sort of passion in his eyes and heard that excitement in his voice when he was speaking about his friends, but this… this was _everything_ to her. While Shepard was talking about the Krogan she knew he was talking about himself, too. He saw that it was possible to start anew—that despite everything, he could begin again. He had a future, just like the Krogan. It was what he did with that future that was still undecided, but Kentworth was beginning to suspect he was getting ideas.

 “That’s remarkable, John,” Kentworth said happily. “I am truly overjoyed to hear how well the Krogan and your friends have progressed. I had read the reports but to hear your account makes it that much more real.”

 Shepard nodded quickly. “Wrex and Grunt told me but I had to see it for myself—I couldn’t just be told about it, you know? And… and it helped. I know I thought the idea was dumb at first but… but I can’t deny the changes that trip has made to me. I feel hopeful, almost. Like, if they can do it, maybe I can. Or I can at least _try_.”

 Kentworth was beaming at this point. “You’re absolutely right, John. And I believe you’re a great deal closer to moving on than you think. You speak more about the future and generally have a more positive outlook. You’ve also been, slowly but surely, moving on from the belief that serving in the Alliance was the only thing you are good at. You are more than your old service record, John.”

 “I’m starting to feel that,” he said. “I mean, really feel it. I can’t help but feel really motivated right now. I haven’t felt that in a really long time.”

 He was riding a wave right now having only just returned from his trip, and Kentworth knew that. His bleak outlook could come back at any moment, and she knew she’d have to prepare for that possible situation. Mood swings were common, and Shepard could switch at the flip of a hat. But he seemed steady in his approach, and she hoped that if she kept repeating all of the things he was saying back to him over the course of the next few months, perhaps it would stick.

 “Wrex helped,” Shepard continued. “He saw I was different but he didn’t… he didn’t coddle me because of it. Didn’t treat me any differently or make my limitations obvious. He knew I have a bad leg so he drove us more often than we walked, and found a soft cot for me to sleep on at night, but that was it—no sympathetic looks or false promises that it would get better. He just accepted it and moved on. But Grunt… _he_ said something about my leg…”

 He frowned, brows drawn tight together and baby blues looking down at his knee.

 Kentworth let him sit for a moment, but it was clear he wasn’t going to continue without her promoting, his attention still fixed on his leg.

 “What did Grunt say?” she asked gently. Grunt was the tank-born Krogan Shepard spoke of with great fondness—almost as if he were his child, in a bizarre way.

 Shepard let out a sharp exhale and looked up at Kentworth. He seemed hesitant to say anything—afraid, almost. “He asked why I didn’t just remove it,” he said softly. “He couldn’t understand why I kept it. He kept saying how ridiculous it was and how anything that limits me should be taken off if it was possible. He just didn’t see the reason for keeping it.”

 “And this troubled you?” she promoted. “You felt as if he was wrong?”

 “No… no I didn’t think he was wrong,” Shepard said. “I knew he was right.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. This was a new form of thinking from him.

 “How do you mean?” she asked slowly.

 Shepard sighed and looked back down at his leg. “When I told Kaidan why I wanted to keep the leg he just accepted it, even though we both knew it was the wrong choice. No one ever fought me about it; they just… they just let me continue making excuses. But no one ever just told me bluntly. No one just sat me down and told me how fucking irrational it is. Because it is—it’s fucking stupid. My leg hurts me, ma’am. Every day it hurts. It’s a constant reminder of how things have changed and I… I can’t keep holding on to it. It’s dead-weight.”

 “So what were you thinking?” she asked. “Did you want to have it removed?”

 Shepard shrugged. He looked back up at Kentworth, uncertainty in his eyes. “Yeah… maybe? I’ve been thinking about it…”

 “That’s a major step,” she said, watching as the elation and hope in Shepard’s eyes began to fade, replaced by the brooding expression he wore more often than anything else. “I believe it is worth discussing with your doctor, however. I would also be willing to aid you in any of the mental health questions you may have. Why do you feel that it is time?”

 “I just… I’m realizing how it’s… it’s weighing me down. Like I said—it hurts. It hurts every fucking day. I’m in constant pain and it’s exhausting. And my reasons for keeping it are dwindling fast. Before I was afraid of what was still really me, yeah? But Miranda showed me how much of me is still _me_. And when I was in the hospital a part of me…” he took a steadying breath and swallowed thickly. “A part of me still thought, beyond all rationality, that I’d be let back into the Alliance. I thought if I just worked hard enough my leg would fix itself—that the doctors were wrong and I would walk and run like I used to. But… but I’m realizing…”

“You’re realizing that the part of your life with the Alliance has truly come to a close,” she said, helping Shepard along when it was clear he was struggling.

 “Yeah…” he said softly. He took a deep breath and looked up at Kentworth, jaw clenched tight and chin jutted forward. “I’m no longer a Commander,” he said, voice tight with emotions. “I’m no longer an Alliance member, or an N7 member. I’m just John Shepard. My part with the Alliance is finished and… and I need to move on.”

 Kentworth nodded and reached out to gently rest her hand on his knee. “You’re more than just John Shepard,” she said. “You’re many things to many people; a friend, a hero, a lover and a partner. You’re a man with a future ahead of you. And I think you’re starting to see that.”

 Shepard nodded tersely. His large, scarred hand covered her own and he gave it a gentle squeeze. Letting go, she sat back and let him collect himself. The confession was a long time coming, but she knew it was for the best. He had to move on from the Alliance, just like he had to move on from his death and the loss of his original life.

 “I think I’m going to talk to my doctor,” he said, brushing his hand over his face, as if to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. “See what they recommend.”

 “Have you told Kaidan this?” she asked.

 Shepard nodded. “Yeah, kind of. He knows I’ve been thinking about it and he supports me. He thinks it’s for the best.”

 “Would you get a prosthetic or clone it?”

 “No cloning,” he said, quick and sharp. He cleared his throat and smiled tightly. “Bad experience with clones—it’s a long story.”

 “Prosthetics have come a long way,” she said, choosing to ignore the story about cloning. “You could even get one that would help you to run again.”

 Shepard smiled. “Yeah, I saw those. And being part robotic wouldn’t be so bad. I think Legion and EDI would approve.”

 Kentworth nodded. “I think they would as well.”

 “I’ll never be the same,” he continued, voice steadier. “I’ll never break any running records again, or biotically charge into a nest of Vorcha, but just to be able to go for a jog? Or have sex and not cramp up? Hell, even taking a shit without having to awkwardly stretch my leg out would be really, really great.”

 “If you are serious about this, John, please know I support you,” Kentworth said, “and I support you if you decide to keep the leg. However, I urge you to remember this talk that we just had. Losing a leg is a major step, and it can be daunting, but please, don’t be frightened—remember all of the positive changes this could have on your life. As you said, it is a dead-weight and a vestige of your old life; the piece you’re trying to let go of. The benefits far outweigh anything else, in my humble opinion. But go—speak to your doctors and see what they suggest. And remember that you have my support.”

 “Thank you,” he said. He sent her a small, appreciative smile.

 “You’re welcome.”

 She let Shepard collect himself once more, watching as he gathered his thoughts, his attention once again fixated on his knee. Finally, after a few minutes of deep contemplation, he looked back up at her.

 “So… when Kaidan came to visit… did you suggest to him we try out some weird Asari meditative yoga?”

 Kentworth had to stifle a laugh. “Whatever do you mean?”

 “He signed us up for meditative yoga classes while I was gone,” Shepard explained, confusion evident in his voice. “He said that being able to ‘clear my mind’ would be good for my sleeping issues, and I’m certain he got that idea from you.”

 “Well I did suggest that you might wish to try meditation techniques, but I didn’t tell him to sign up for Asari yoga courses,” she said, chuckling softly. “Are you going to go?”

 “I kind of have to,” he said, obviously annoyed. “He bought us mats and everything.”

 “Well you never know; you might like it. You scoffed at my suggestion of knitting and now look at you—making sweaters and toques like a born natural.”

 Shepard sent her a look that could only be described as ‘unamused’.

 “I am sure it will be fine. Think of it as good couple’s bonding time. And I think being able to meditate will help with some of your sleep issues,” she continued.

 “Couple’s bonding time, eh?” Shepard smiled slyly. “Well… maybe if Kaidan is in front of me during the session…”

  _Honestly, John._

 “How about we do some more exposure therapy today,” she said, changing the subject. “I thought maybe we could play the sound of the Reaper again. You did well with it last time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the Asari Meditative Yoga chapter in Recollections of a Marine (not even joking).


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been beta'ed. My beta is away for another month, and I didn't want you all to wait two months for an update. Once I get the beta'ed version I will replace it. So if you see more mistakes than usual I apologize!
> 
> Thank you once again for the support and interest in the story! We're on the home stretch!

 It was cold.

 It was so fucking _cold_.

 So cold Shepard swore if he took a piss the stream would freeze before it touched the ground.

 Alenko and Vakarian’s bitching wasn’t helping the situation, either. 

 “You know, Shepard… Turians aren’t really made for this kind of weather,” Vakarian said, hefting his sniper over his shoulder as they stopped in front of yet another locked door.

 “Yeah—you may have mentioned that a few times in the last couple of hours,” Shepard mumbled, opening up his omni-tool with stiff fingers. “Do you think complaining will warm you up?”

 They’d been running around Peak 15 for the last two hours trying to repair the damage the ‘Code Omega’ shutdown had caused, their bodies taut with cold and boots covered in icy snow, a headache from the biting wind burring deep in between Shepard’s brows. _Nothing_ about the Noveria mission had been going smoothly. First it was bureaucratic bullshit in the business towers, then it was the hellish drive up to the Peak (complete with Geth attack and black ice), before they arrived to see someone had let loose gigantic fucking tentacle bugs. Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, they found that the overtly cheery VI who controlled everything had been purged, making it nigh impossible to get up to the Rift Station without rebooting her systems.

 All of this was enough to wear Shepard’s already thin patients even thinner, but the snow and the cold were just shaving off that little bit extra, making Shepard jumpy and itchy, his jaw clenched tight as a bear trap and lips pulled down in a permanent scowl.

Perhaps the alien bugs were a good thing. It gave him an excuse to shoot something.

 “It can’t hurt,” Vakarian said. “It at least keeps me talking. I think if I stopped moving I might freeze and snap off a mandible.”

 Bringing up his omni-gel supply, Shepard pressed his hand against the door and waited for the gel to do its job and open the door.

 It didn’t work.

 Pulling his hand away he looked down at the omni-tool. ‘ _Insufficient gel_ ’ it read in big, bold letters. A rush of adrenaline shot through Shepard then, cheeks going flush despite the cold as he stared down at the words, vision going double for a second as he was filled with unadulterated _rage_. He tried to breathe evenly through his nose but it was hard, everything inside screaming at him to lash out—do something explosive to just let it all fucking out.

To act like a Red and not a Commander.

_Don’t do it. Don’t act out. Don’t lose everything in front of your men. You’re their Commander—you have to keep things calm and collected. Don’t let the frustration of having a fucking door not fucking open as you freeze your fucking ass of in the middle of butt-fuck fucking nowhere—_

 Shepard slammed his fist hard into the door as he bit the inside of his cheek, stifling the yell he wanted to let out. The violent vibration through his arm gave him momentary satisfaction, but the ache and the curse from Alenko behind him stole it as quick as it had come.

 “Is something the matter, Commander?” Alenko asked, his calm, even voice moving from over his shoulder to right beside him.

 Shepard kept his gaze down on the bright red locking mechanism on the door that was telling him very clearly that the door they needed open wasn’t going to fucking open.

 “We’re out of omni-gel,” he gritted out, fist still pressed against the door. Dropping his hand he straightened up and rolled his shoulders back. “I don’t know how we’re going to get in.”

 “Can I take a look?” Alenko asked.

 Shepard observed Alenko, noting the look of concern on his face as they stood side by side.

  _He wears that expression a lot_ , Shepard noted.

 Agreeing, he stepped off to the side and gave Alenko access to the lock. He was still pissed but he couldn’t let that get to him now. He had to think of another way into the room so they would reboot part of Mira’s system. Maybe they could find some of the vents the alien bugs were using and crawl through that way…

 “It’s an easy lock; I think I can hack in,” Alenko said, voice breaking Shepard from his train of thought.

 “Really?” he asked, peering over Alenko’s shoulder to look at his omni-tool’s screen. It all looked like gibberish to him—a bunch of lines of code and virtual locking mechanisms. He’d never been good with tech, not enough patients to sit and learn it.

  _Probably not enough brains for it, either._

“Yeah,” Alenko mumbled, “shouldn’t take me more than a couple of minutes.”

 Shepard nodded and turned to Vakarian. “Watch the hallway—make sure none of those fuckers get in while our backs are turned.”

 Vakarian sent Shepard a lazy salute and sauntered down the hallway, rifle in his grasp, seemingly relaxed in his movements were it not for the constant twitch of his mandibles.

 “If you want I can show you how to do a basic hack,” Alenko said.

 Shepard turned and realized they were close enough he could count Alenko’s eyelashes if he wanted to, the two of them sharing body heat as they huddled by the door. Swallowing the thick wad of spit that had developed in his throat, he nodded and stepped back so he wasn’t hovering so close.

_Don’t overstep your bounds—he’s under your command, remember?_

 Alenko didn’t seem to appreciate that.

 “You gottay stay close—these screens are small,” he said casually, unperturbed by the close proximity. Returning, Shepard watched and listened as Kaidan showed how he went about hacking through a ‘basic’ locking system. He followed virtually little of it but pretended to, wanting to think about anything but the stupid fucking door still being fucking locked and how goddamn frustrated he was about _everything_ right now.

 But Alenko’s voice was calm and even, his manners relaxed as he went through the basics, patient and easy-going the entire way. It was… soothing, almost.

 “—and then you just look for the matching piece of code and… there. We’re in.” Alenko broke out into a small smile just as the door swung open with a definitive ‘swishing’ noise.

 “Finally,” Vakarian yelled from down the hallway.

 “Good work, Alenko,” Shepard said. He found that his breathing had evened out and he didn’t feel quite so tense, Alenko’s intervention providing him with a distraction and a means by which to keep his frustrations in check.

 “Just doing my job, sir.” He was still smiling. Something about that was also soothing.

 It wasn’t until they were back on the Normandy that Shepard had the time to thank Alenko again for his help. Unable to find the words to express how much he appreciated his intervention and exemplary behaviour, Shepard stumbled through his words until Alenko spoke up, that concerned expression he always seemed to wear reappearing.

 “Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked.

 “Permission granted.”

 Locking their eyes, Alenko held his gaze. “You don’t have to be the one to do everything all the time, sir. You can rely on your team—it’s why we are here. No one expects you to save the galaxy alone, you know? Your team is here to help you out.” He looked away, uncertain about something, before looking back at him. “I think you take too much on. I think you should try and relax a little more. I… I worry about you sometimes. Sir.”

 Shepard’s heart clenched painfully, and he immediately tried to figure out what Alenko’s motivations were. People didn’t just worry about him—there was always another reason; some motivation to keep him going so that they could benefit. The Reds, the Alliance—they all had ulterior motives.

 But Shepard didn’t see any of the usual guarded stare associated with mock concern and fake comradery in Alenko’s eyes. He seemed… genuine.

  Shepard had never had anyone worry about him like that before. It was honest and unselfish, motivated by something Shepard didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t looking for anything out of Shepard—wasn’t keeping him motivated because he wanted to use him for something. He was just concerned because… well, Shepard didn’t know why. He couldn’t really conceive of a reason why someone like Alenko would care beyond not wanting to serve under a basket case.

 “You don’t have to be concerned,” he said as casually as he possibly could.

  “Someone’s got to look after you if you won’t,” Alenko said, and the small, all too comforting smile was back.

 It was in that moment that Shepard realized how fucked he was.

XX

 Kentworth flipped through Shepard’s journal, reading the few notes he’d jotted down here and there, most of them simple updates on how he was feeling that particular day along with the occasional commentary. Most of it was standard fare for Shepard as of late—‘alright’ and ‘good’ with the occasional ‘tired’ and ‘anxious’.

 Sitting across from Kentworth in his usual spot Shepard was busy looking out a window, his attention focused on something outside rather than inside the room. Glancing over the edge of the journal every so often, Kentworth subtly watched him, noting how he seemed relaxed save for the way he drummed his fingers on his good leg, the bad one stretched straight out under the coffee table. 

 She was just about to put the book down when she noted yesterday’s entry.

 ‘Excited’ was all it said.

 Placing the journal on her side table she turned on the recorder and sat back, a soft sigh slipping past her lips, alerting Shepard to the fact that they were ready to chat.

 “How are you feeling today?” she asked, smiling.

 “Good,” Shepard replied quickly.

 “Just good? Surely there is more to your emotions than ‘good’. You’ve got a big event coming up after all…”

 Shepard quirked a brow. “You know?”

 Kentworth returned the confused look. “I know about your surgery, yes.”

 Shepard relaxed, a soft chuckle slipping past. “Ah, yeah… that thing.”

 “Yes, ‘that thing’. The thing we’ve been discussing for the last three months. You’re not feeling any nervousness? You’re relaxed and confident about it at this point?”

 “I’m completely ready for this,” he said, nodding his head in confirmation.

 Kentworth peered across at Shepard. He was acting awfully strange—even for him. He kept looking out the window and around the room, attention flicking to the door like he was anxious to leave. But she didn’t sense any discomfort from him. Rather, he seemed… excited. Like a young boy waiting to go to his friend’s birthday party later in the day, all bright eyed and eager to leave, shoes and jacket on and standing next to the door a good hour early.

 But whatever it was he wasn’t saying a word. Tight lipped like he was with most things, Shepard continued to sit and give away as little as possible. It had almost become a game for them. He’d come in looking sad or happy or angry, and she’d be forced to try and pry the reason for his behaviour out of him.

 Almost eleven months into their professional relationship and Kentworth was getting good.

 “You just saying you’re completely ready doesn’t give me much, John. I need to hear all of your thoughts and concerns at this very moment. Remember—this isn’t something you can go back on. This is a massive decision and both your medical doctors and I need to know you’re ready for this.”

 Shepard sighed and rubbed his eyes. Sitting forward he placed his elbows on his knees and stared across at her. “I don’t know what more you want me to say, ma’am. Like you said, we’ve talked about this for the last three months. I’m pretty sure I’ve been through every stage of deliberation at this point.”

 “Humour me,” Kentworth replied. “What’s the first thing you think of when I say amputation?”

 “No more pain,” he said.

 “Wheelchair?”

 “A minor inconvenience until I get my prosthetic.”

 “And what about prosthetic?” she asked.

 “An… upgrade,” he replied.

 She smiled. “An upgrade?”

 Shepard nodded. “Yeah, an upgrade. What I have now? It’s useless. My new leg will give me the chance to do some of the things I can’t do right now. Normal things like run and jump.”

 “How about when I say the word stub?” she asked, using a particularly blunt and slightly offensive term on purpose, wanting to see his reaction to it.

 Shepard’s face dropped, and he looked down at his leg.

 “An adjustment,” he finally said.

 “Do you think it will be difficult at first? To look down and no longer see your leg there?”

 He shrugged. “Probably. I mean, I haven’t lost a leg before so… I don’t know. I was told there might be some phantom leg pain for a bit, and it would be odd to see it gone, but… I’m ready for this, ma’am. If I can kind of wrap my head around the whole ‘dying and coming back’ I think I can adjust to looking down and not seeing my leg.”

 “What about Kaidan?”

 “What about him?” Shepard was grinning again.

_So, his excitement and detachedness is related to Kaidan… not surprising, really._

 “What do you think his reaction will be toward seeing your leg gone?”

 “I think it will take him some time too. But we’ve talked about it a lot and he’s as ready as I am. We won’t know for sure until it’s happened—either of us—but we can prepare for it.” He sat back and gripped his knee. “I’m just excited to get this off, to be honest. I’m done talking about it, you know? I want it off; I want to cut off the dead weight so I can… I dunno, feel like I’m moving on?”

 Kentworth nodded. “You’ve said that multiple times. I’m just concerned that you’re putting a lot of hope on this surgery fixing many of your problems.”

 “How do you mean?” he asked slowly.

 “I worry, John, that you’re projecting all of your struggles mentally and physically on to your leg. I think that you believe that if you remove your leg and ‘cut off the dead weight’ that you won’t struggle as you do now. While I feel this is an incredibly important stepping stone and that it will help you, it might take longer to see and feel the results than you think it will,” she explained.

 She didn’t want to deter Shepard—in fact she’d been nothing but supportive throughout the whole process—but she hated to see any of her patients put all their chips on the table only to see them lose everything.

 “Yeah…” Shepard said, “I get that.”

 “What are you hoping will happen?” she asked. If she knew what he was hoping for, perhaps she could prepare for the worst.

 “I’m hoping…” Shepard began, picking his words carefully, “I’m hoping I’ll feel a bit more like myself—like the old me. I’ll be able to be more physical than I am now, and that’s a big thing for me. Right now I’m so fucking limited. I can’t run, can’t jump, can’t go on long walks, I can’t have sex without being in pain. But without my leg I can get reprieve, you know? I won’t constantly be in pain.”

 “Your doctors told you that your prosthetics might hurt at times,” she replied.

 Shepard grunted out an agreement. “Yeah, of course they will. But it won’t be constant—not like it is now. And I know I’ll never run like I used to, but at least I’ll be _able_ to run. Right now I can’t even get up a flight of stairs without feeling like my leg might explode from the pressure in my ankle and knee. I’m just so fucking limited with this thing and I want it gone. I know you’re asking me all these questions again because you want to make sure I’m positive about this, but I _am_ positive about it. I want it _gone_.”

 Kentworth knew then that Shepard was ready. He hadn’t balked once and hadn’t hesitated with any of his answers. The determination—almost desperation—in his voice told Kentworth that Shepard’s mind had been set and there was no backing down now.

 He’d gone from desperately clinging to his leg to wanting to rip it off and start anew.

 This had to be one of the more drastic and visible changes she’d ever made to a patient’s life. She honestly hadn’t expected the turn-around when Shepard first came into her office, and some days she wondered if she’d dreamed everything up. But it was all real. Shepard was making the changes he wanted to see—he had that drive again.

 The dead, blank stare she’d seen across from her for months was getting that life and hope she knew he had inside of him.

 Warmed her heart, it did.

 “I just want to move on, you know? Keep going forward—keep that momentum up,” he continued, “Get the leg removed, learn how to walk and run again, start building my business, and actually do something with myself.”

 “You have direction now,” she said.

 Shepard nodded. Flicking a piece of invisible lint of his pants he sat a little more comfortable on the couch. “Yeah, that’s probably it. I didn’t know what to do for the longest time so I just sat around and got lost in my head. I still do it, but maybe with a job it’ll be easier to stop thinking for a bit. I can concentrate on my job and not all the damaging thoughts I have…” He trailed off and pursed his lips, lost in thought before pushing forward, “Maybe one day I’ll be so caught up in other things that I’ll stop having nightmares about dying. I’ll get a good night’s rest and wake up feeling refreshed and positive about my life. Anything is possible, yeah?”

 He shrugged and sent Kentworth a small, hopeful smile.

 “I had told you that obtaining a new career would be good for you,” she reminded Shepard gently. “I think many of your troubles started because you had nothing to occupy yourself with. However, I urge you to not ignore what you’re feeling inside—rather you need to continue to confront the negative thought pattern and meet it head on. Identify why it’s upsetting you and work on ways in which to make the negative thought a positive one. Make it so that you don’t have to run away from what you’re feeling; rather, turn it into something that you can handle. Eventually, the thoughts won’t be hard to deal with at all, much like your triggers.”

 “I know. It’s difficult sometimes, but I understand it,” he said. “It’s kind of like my future.”

 “You mean your future has become easier to conceive of?” she asked, watching as Shepard started to smile again.

 “Yeah, basically. Before I didn’t even think I _had_ a future. Maybe a part of me didn’t want it or something—like I didn’t deserve it. But I’m working on thinking about my future—setting goals for myself and working toward those goals. I have to have something to work toward. Getting engaged has helped with it. Now when I think about my future I’m not crippled with fear. Now when I see my future I see Kaidan.”

 “Exactly. I think you’re— wait,” Kentworth stared hard at Shepard. “Go back a few sentences. Did you just say you got _engaged_?”

 Shepard just grinned.

  _Bloody hell!_

 “When? How? When did you—were you even going to tell me, John?”

 Rarely was Kentworth at such a loss for words, but her surprise caused the questions to tumble out half formed and barely developed, Shepard’s smug grin widening as she babbled on.

 “Yesterday,” he said, picking one question to answer of the many she’d flung out at him. Leaning forward he slipped his hand under the collar of his shirt and pulled out a necklace with a single metal dog tag hanging from the middle. His smile turned from smug to soft and gently as he fiddled with it, thumb running along the edge.

 “Well now you have to tell me everything,” she said, unable to hide the pure giddiness. Shepard had gotten engaged! He knew he had a future! He was committing to a future! She’d have done a dance had she been thirty years younger and a lot spryer. “Did you propose?”

 “No, it was Kaidan,” he said, still smiling that silly little smile she’d come to associate with any mention of Kaidan. “We had some friends over for dinner—some coworkers of Kaidan’s—and it had been a good evening. Relaxing and… normal. It felt normal. We had dinner, drank some wine, played some poker, and just talked. It was… it was really nice. After our guests left we were cleaning up and Kaidan suddenly dropped down on one knee in front of me and asked me if I’d marry him.”

 “And you said yes.”

 “I said yes,” he affirmed softly. Standing, he slipped the necklace off and passed it to Kentworth, the warmed metal lying flat on the palm of her hand.

 Flipping it over Kentworth read the inscription:

 _‘MD11 24    478       987_  
K. B. Alenko  
O+                Biotic  
ALLIANCE FORCES CDN’

“It’s Kaidan’s old dog tag he used to wear when he was a lieutenant,” Shepard explained. “It’s basically the tags he wore when we first met. Technically I shouldn’t have it but… fuck regulations. We shouldn’t have been fucking back on the Normandy SR-2, too, but...”

 Kentworth smiled and returned the tag to Shepard, watching as he immediately put it back on and under his shirt, letting his skin keep it warm. Zipping up his hoodie, he sat back on the couch, looking much like a pleased cat.

 “That’s a very fitting engagement ‘ring’ for the two of you,” she said.

 “I didn’t have my old ones otherwise I’d have given him mine,” he replied. “Instead they’re lost in some hospital probably.”

 “Well now you have one to wear again,” she supplied.

 Shepard grinned and reached up to trace the chain around his neck, his touch gentle. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

 “Were you surprised when he asked?” she inquired, wanting to hear what his reaction was. Getting engaged was a big deal for anyone, but for someone who previously had no notion of a future? This was monumental.

 Shepard sighed and stretched his leg out, brows furrowed as he thought about it. “We’d talked about getting married a few times,” he began, “but it had just been talk—never anything solid. Kind of ‘maybe one day’ type of thing. I think we were both content the way things were. We’ve known each other for seven years almost, and have been together as a couple for three. Eventually I think we both knew it would happen but… nothing ever came of it.”

 “And why was that?”

 Shepard sighed again and looked out the window. “Probably because I was… I dunno, I was really fucked up for a while. That’s why I’ve been coming here for the last ten months, isn’t it? I couldn’t keep my shit together; couldn’t decide on anything; couldn’t commit or connect. I was… distant and… I dunno. I think Kaidan thought maybe I’d say no if he asked because I was just...” he shrugged.

 Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out the tag, rubbing it with his thumb. He looked back at Kentworth and she noted the guilt in his expression. “I think this was his way of asking me if I was planning on sticking around long enough for us to enjoy our time together.”

 “You thought of leaving him?” she asked, finding that hard to believe.

 Shepard shook his head. “No, I mean… he was wondering if I was planning on getting better or… you know…”

_Killing yourself._

 “And…?” she asked gently. “Do you still feel this way?”

 “No, ma’am. No, I don’t. Otherwise I’d have never have said yes.” Sitting a little straighter he wrapped his hand around the tag, gripping it like a man would a cross. “I never thought about killing myself; suicide wasn’t an option in my mind. I mean, I thought maybe if I died—for good—it wouldn’t be so bad, but I never actively thought of ending it myself. But Kaidan didn’t know that and I didn’t talk about it. I probably scared the shit out of him, if I’m being honest. I didn’t let him in like I knew he wanted me to… sometimes I still don’t. But I’m working on it.”

 “And do you think Kaidan knows this now?” she asked.

 “Yeah, I think he does. We’re talking a lot—I’m telling him how I’m feeling and… and I think I’m treating him like he deserves to be treated. He’s my partner and someone I can rely on, and he can rely on me. We’re in this together; we’re in it for life. And… and I’m not alone in this. I don’t have to be alone.” He kept his hand on the tag but his grip was less severe. The reverence was still there, however.

 Kentworth jotted down a few notes about Shepard opening up to Kaidan before asking another question. She wanted to get the full picture of where Shepard was, psychologically, when he accepted the proposal.

 “Why do you think you said yes?” she asked softly. “And I’m not looking for the obvious answers like ‘because I love him’. I want to know what changed—why did you say yes whereas before Kaidan feared you might say no?”

Shepard sat still, his attention fixed on the table before them, brows furrowed as he contemplated the question. He was obviously taking it seriously because he sat for a good five minutes before he spoke, voice soft and his words carefully chosen.

 “I think it’s because… before I didn’t think I had a future, you know? I didn’t think I had anything going for me after I was discharged; I felt like I had lost everything that made me who I was. But I always had Kaidan. No matter what happened in my life, Kaidan was there. He’s been my rock, ma’am, since as long as I’ve known him. Even before we started a relationship, Kaidan was there for me like no one else. He talked me down when I got frustrated and just… he just looked out for me, not because he thought I owed him or he thought he needed to—it was because he _wanted_ to. Kaidan is a part of my future; not the entirety of it, but he’s something I can hold on to right now and help to… I don’t know, get a sense of what else is in store, maybe. By saying yes I feel like I’ve _made_ a future for myself. And I can’t think of anyone better to start it with than Kaidan.”

 He shrugged and looked down at his free hand as it curled loosely over his knee. A blush spread out on his cheeks.

 “I’m not very good with words or talking about how I feel,” he continued, “but when I’m with Kaidan I… I feel at peace, almost. Everything is just so still—I’m still. I don’t worry, I don’t try and be someone I’m not… he never expects anything from me and I don’t expect anything from him. We can just _be_. We can just…”

 He sighed and ran a hand over his face, brushing away the emotion in his voice.

 “Kaidan is my light, ma’am. He’s the light at the end of that long dark tunnel I’ve been stumbling down for years now. I just need to keep walking toward him and eventually I’ll be out in the sun with him. I just need to keep walking forward. I can’t look back, can’t think about what I lost in the past because if I do, I might lose what I have now. I might lose my future—I might lose Kaidan.

 “It’s funny, you know. I kept thinking the Alliance was my family—that the Alliance gave me purpose—but now I’m realizing that the Alliance never did shit for me; it was the people around me that changed me and made me who I am. Kaidan and the Normandy crew— _they’re_ my family. And I still have them; I haven’t lost them. I just… I need to remember that.”

 Kentworth listened and didn’t interrupt. This was perhaps the most revealing conversation they’d had thus far—and they’d had many a conversation. Shepard was beginning to understand his own emotions and properly analyze them in a healthy, constructive manner. It was all she could ask for as a psychiatrist: to have a patient realize they could heal themselves.

 “I believe you just psychoanalyzed yourself, John,” she said, smiling. “And I believe your closer to that light at the end of the tunnel than you think. You have a ways to go—this is true—but I think you’re starting to feel the warm rays on your cheeks.”

 Shepard smiled. “Yeah… me too.”

 They sat in comfortable silence for a little longer, Kentworth letting Shepard gather himself before she paged Helen.

 “Helen? Please be a dear and bring me that bottle of scotch I’ve hidden in the breakroom behind the hot chocolate mix, along with two glasses. We have something to celebrate in here and I don’t think chocolate covered biscuits are quite appropriate.”

 “Right away, ma’am.”

 Shepard quirked a brow and shot her a bemused smile. “Scotch behind the hot chocolate mix?”

 “I won’t tell the Alliance you’re wearing someone else’s dog tag; you shan’t tell a soul about the scotch. Do we have a deal?” she asked, smirking.

 Shepard chuckled and extended his hand for a shake. “Deal.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second last update of the full story, followed by another short chapter maybe set during a particular wedding? Stay tuned, peaches!
> 
> As always, special thanks to teadrunktailor for beta'ing my work and providing lovely commentary along the way. And an extra special thanks to zeowynda for helping me with the details of prosthetic and amputations!

 “Do you believe in soulmates?”

 Shepard cracked an eye open and blinked away the bright lights of the console before him. Shifting in his chair, he looked over at Joker, watching the pilot’s fingers glide over the navigation equipment with ease.

 “What?” he asked, crossing his arms a little tighter over his chest. He’d come up here to get a general debriefing from Joker and EDI, but somehow found himself occupying EDI’s chair, dozing lightly in the seat, lulled by the hum of the Normandy, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

 Joker had been quiet up until now.

 “I said: do you believe in soulmates. Like the whole theory that there is only one person out there for someone, and that they’ll meet and live happily ever after, have lots of small, tiny children, add to the already huge population of the galaxy, grow old together, and then die, wrinkled and shriveled. You know—that kind soulmate thing.”

 Shepard sighed and ran a hand over his face, fingers pressing hard into his eyes. Knocking his head back against the headrest, he stared up at the mass effect fields as they washed over the nose of the Normandy. “I dunno,” he said, “never really thought about it. With the size of the galaxy, I’d find it hard to believe there’s only one person for someone.”

 “But what about you and Kaidan?”

 “What about us?”

 Joker rolled his eyes. “You two were practically thrown together time and time again. First you get assigned to the same ship, then you meet years later on Horizon, then back on Earth, until finally the coup at the Citadel brought him back on to the Normandy. You’re telling me that after all of that, you don’t think there might be something else going on? Some like, cosmic powers or something, trying to get you and he together after making moony eyes at each other for a fucking eternity?”

 Shepard quirked a brow. He hadn’t expected this kind of conversation from Joker of all people. Yawning, he shifted in the chair to get a better look at him. He was still staring at the screens before him, gaze fixed on the monitors.

 “You think about this a lot?” he finally asked.

 “Well, I have a lot of time to think up here,” Joker quipped, his tone telling Shepard just how self-conscious he was about the entire thing. 

 “This about me and Kaidan, or is this about you and EDI?” Shepard asked slowly.

  Joker was quiet for a few seconds. “It’s weird, right? Me and EDI—it’s weird.”

 “Because she’s an AI?”

 “And a robot,” Joker added.

 Shepard shrugged. “I dunno… couple centuries ago and I’d be seen as weird for sucking cock, so…”

 Joke groaned loudly. “Thanks, Commander, for that lovely image. I really appreciate it.”

 “What? The image of me going down on—”

“Hey so let’s talk about me and EDI!” Joke said. More like yelled.

 Chuckling, Shepard zipped his hoodie up and stuffed his hands in his pockets, pleased he’d gotten a bit of a rise out of Joker. He was always pushing his buttons so it was time the tides turned—at least for a little while.

 “Are you two happy?” Shepard asked.

 “Well… yeah. I think. I’m happy. I mean… she’s great. She’s really great. She makes me happy so… yeah.”

 “Then who gives a shit what others think? You’re happy and she’s happy—fuck what everyone says.”

Couple of years ago, Shepard would have told Joker to ignore his feelings—bottle them up and save them for another time and place; maybe even another lifetime. Just like he’d done. But this wasn’t a couple of years ago. They were on what was probably their last mission, the galaxy was being destroyed by some sentient robotic beings millions of years old, and at any moment everything could be gone—just like that.

 Why not find a little bit of happiness, even for a second? Shepard wasn’t the only one who needed a sanity check. He needed his crew at their best; he needed Joker to be happy. And if EDI provided that happiness, who was he to deny it?

 “Is it that easy?” Joker said quietly. “Just saying ‘fuck it’ and moving on?”

 “Why shouldn’t it be?” Standing, Shepard cracked his back and rolled his shoulders. “Stop second guessing yourself and just enjoy the ride, Joker.”

 He left him with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

XX

Kentworth had never much liked hospitals. Not many people did, really. There was something terribly daunting and oppressive about the place, and no amount of white walls, get well soon balloons, and pink bedding could take that away from it. The problem was, unless you were having a child or getting the ‘all clear’, hospitals were places you went to receive bad news—usually while in a great amount of pain. Pain and grief like that seeped its way into a place over time, and it was impossible to scrub it out.

 Hospitals were, in a sense, much like her patients. Time could help heal all wounds but the scars would always be there. Soldiers and hospitals held on to their grief and never really gave it up; they functioned with it, but never relinquished everything.

 Walking down one of the many hallways of St. Paul’s Hospital, Kentworth carried with her a bag filled with colourful yarn and a pair of new knitting needles, along with the obligatory ‘get well soon’ card she saw on her way in past the gift shop at the entrance. Approaching the nursing desk, she rested her hands on the counter top and smiled brightly at the nearest nurse.

 “Hello—I’m Dr. Kentworth, one of Mr. Shepard’s doctors. I was wondering if he was accepting visitors?” she asked, keeping up the bright smile as the nurse looked up at her with bagged, tired eyes.

_Poor girl must have been on the night shift._

 “You’re one of Shepard’s doctors?” she asked, quirking a brow.

 “I’m his psychiatrist,” Kentworth explained. She loathed outing her patients by calling herself anything but their doctor, finding it a bit too revealing of their psychological trauma. Shepard was staunchly against letting anyone know he was seeking help in particular. But sometimes one had to reveal their true identity…

 “Oh! Okay; I think we were told about you actually,” the nurse said, her demeanour changing as she brought up a file on the computer in front of her. Scanning through the file, she smiled and nodded. “Yes, your name is on the list of potential visitors. He’s down that hallway and in the last door to your left.”

 “Thank you, dear,” Kentworth replied. Picking up her purse and gift, she wandered down the hallway in a slow, steady pace.

 Shepard had gone in for surgery two weeks ago, and in those two weeks Kentworth had been told very little. She knew he was going to be in the hospital for a short while as his body healed, and she also knew it would take another month and a half before he could receive his first fitting for a prosthetic, limiting him to a wheelchair and crutches in the interim. Other than that she was left in the dark.

 It wasn’t as if she didn’t have other things to do while his session block was left open. She had other patients that needed looking after, and her husband had taken to talking about retirement again, something she began to seriously contemplate herself. But eventually she took advantage of one of her rare afternoon breaks and shuffled her way down to the hospital she knew Shepard had been staying at, a gift in her grasp and an eagerness to see how he was adjusting.

 As she approached the door she heard soft voices, and turned the corner to see Shepard sitting next to Kaidan by the large open windows at the end of the room. Their backs were to her and she’d obviously caught them at a tender moment, hands locked together between Kaidan’s chair and Shepard’s wheelchair. Shepard’s thumb was petting the top of Kaidan’s hand and his voice was so soft and tender she had to strain to hear what he was saying.

 “—if you just keep them distracted I can wheel past and go right to the elevators.”

 “Yeah? And how do I distract the nurses, John?” Kaidan asked, amusement in his voice.

 “I dunno… flex or something.”

 “Flex? Why would I flex?”

 “It’s distracting!”

 Kaidan laughed. “Only to you.”

 Kentworth really should not have been surprised Shepard was plotting a way to escape the hospital. Neither should she have been surprised his plan of ‘attack’ involved flexing and wheelchair escapes.

 Deciding that she really did not want to eavesdrop on the conversation (and feeling a bit guilty she’d even heard that much), she made to turn around, deciding to come back in another ten minutes or so. She had barely made it past the doorframe, however, when she heard her name called, followed by the gentle clink of metal against metal.

 “Dr. Kentworth—wait!”

 Kaidan had shot up like a rocket and hurried across the room. Beside him, a large black dog with a blue service vest ~~on~~ stood, tail wagging and head cocked to the side in curiosity.

 “Oh, hello, Kaidan,” she said, accepting Kaidan’s offer of taking the gift bag. “And hello, Cosmo.”

 She reached out to shake Kaidan’s hand before dropping it to allow Cosmo to sniff her palm. He did so gently, black wet nose pressing briefly against her hand before he turned around and trotted back to Shepard, obviously satisfied.

 “He’s a bit attached to Shepard,” Kaidan said.

 “I’m surprised he’s been allowed into the hospital at all,” Kentworth replied.

 Kaidan shrugged. “He’s a certified service dog so he’s got a bit of leeway. So long as he’s got the vest on, we’re good.”

 Following Kaidan into the room, she smiled at Shepard as he pet Cosmo, the pad of his thumb running along the long, straight path of his nose and between his eyes, before cresting up and around his ears.

 “Hey,” he said when she saw her. “I didn’t expect a house visit.”

 “This isn’t me on business,” she said, taking the seat across from Shepard offered to her by Kaidan. “I had some time and I thought I would come by and see how you were feeling. I also brought a gift.”

 Kaidan passed the colorful bag to Shepard. Opening the top up, he sent Kentworth a small, amused smile. “More yarn?”

 “Cosmo needs more than just a red sweater, John,” she said, pleased by Shepard’s reactions to everything thus far. A part of her had thought maybe she’d stumble in on him lying in bed staring sadly out a window, regret on his features and despair in his voice.

 Instead he was smiling and surrounded by those he cared about. One of the corners of the room was positively swarmed with balloons, flowers, magazines, cards, and the odd fruit basket, indicating to Kentworth that word had gotten out around the galaxy of their hero’s next big step in life.

 That or Kaidan panicked and went overboard with the gifts.

 “Thank you,” Shepard said, passing the bag to Kaidan who placed it with all the other gifts. “Really, I mean it—thank you. I was starting to run out. I’ve been kind of limited in what I can do in here so I’ve been knitting a lot.”

 “He’s made six pairs of mittens, two toques, and he started on a scarf today,” Kaidan interjected.

 “That’s quite the assortment of winter wear,” Kentworth replied.

 Shepard shrugged. “Maybe I’ll open up a shop and hawk my wears.”

 “Before you two get into it,” Kaidan began, “I should get going. Cosmo needs to take a walk and I’ve got that meeting later tonight I should look presentable for.”

 Kentworth took off her jacket while Shepard and Kaidan said their goodbyes, a soft kiss exchanged followed by a hug that Kaidan got down on his haunches for and lasted a very long time. Ah, to be young and engaged…

 She waited patiently and pretended to be deeply interested in the parking lot down below them, giving the two their privacy (or three, considering Shepard was giving Cosmo one last rubdown).

 “It was good to see you, ma’am,” Kaidan said, snapping her attention away from the cars down below.

 “And you as well. Good luck with your meeting.”

 He nodded and sent them both a lazy salute before leaving, Cosmo trotting smartly beside him.

 Shepard watched them leave, craning his neck and turning as best he could in his chair, attention focused solely on them until they rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Turning back around he settled and laced his fingers together on his lap, focus going down to his leg.

 Kentworth followed his gaze. What was left of his leg was resting on top of a pillow, soft cotton from his sweats cut neatly and stitched together at the end, covering the bandages. They’d taken the leg off from right above the knee, leaving most of his thigh but nothing else. Already it looked smaller than the thigh next to it, and she wondered how long it would take for the leg to shrink down to the size it would remain.

 “How does it feel?” she asked, looking back up at Shepard.

 He shrugged. “Still a bit weird. Like I’m missing something—which I am, I suppose.”

 “Does it hurt?”

 “Nah, not really. It’s… uncomfortable. I keep thinking it should be there, you know? It’s like when your foot falls asleep and you can’t feel it anymore—only the sensation never comes back. It’s just… gone.” He shifted in his chair and sat a little straighter. “I’ll get used to it, though. Once I get moving again and get my prosthetic I think I’ll feel a bit better.”

 “You’re feeling down?” she asked quietly, keeping her attention on Shepard’s face and not his leg—as tempting as it was to look again. She didn’t want to focus on it; didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was missing a leg. He’d get enough of that in public and there was no need for her to drag it into his private space.

 Shepard quirked a brow and sent her a steady stare. “Is this a therapy session or are you just curious?”

 “Simply curious. I just wanted to see how you’re doing, John.”

 “Do you often come see your patients outside your office?”

 “Not often, but sometimes, if I think they warrant it. You’re one of my more involved patients, John. You’ve been through a lot and continue to go through some very tiring and trying events in your life. I want to make sure you continue your upward projection and don’t stumble along the way.”

 Shepard nodded. He looked back down at his leg.

 “I’m feeling a bit frustrated,” he continued, answering her question. “I knew it would take a while to get moving again, but knowing and experiencing it are different things.”

 “How do you mean?”

 He sighed and ran a hand over his head. “A part of me thought I’d go in, have the surgery, get my leg right away and be walking out of here. But that’s not the case. I’m not going to be fitted for my prosthetic for another month while the stitches heal and the leg atrophies and shrinks down to the proper size. And then I’m going to have months of physio just getting used to the prosthetic. It’s… it’s going to be a long process. But I want to be walking right away, you know? I don’t want to be idle.”

 “How come?”

 “Because being idle means I have time to think, and when I have time to think I get frustrated, and when I’m frustrated I shut down.”

 “So then don’t shut down.”

 Shepard looked up at Kentworth. “What?”

 “I said ‘don’t shut down’,” she replied. Resting her elbows on the armrests of her chair, Kentworth leaned forward, ankles crossed. “You need to remember that you are in control of your emotions, John. You can decide how you’re going to feel about something—no one else decides that for you. When you feel yourself begin to get frustrated, instead of letting it come, try and slowly morph those emotions into something more constructive. Use your frustrations to drive you forward instead of holding you back. You know as well as I do that this is going to take time, but that you will move forward. You just need to be patient.”

 “So... remember that I’m in control of my emotions, eh?” he asked, smiling wryly. “My emotions don’t control me—I control the way I react to a situation.”

 “Exactly,” Kentworth said. It’s was always about control with Shepard. If he felt like he didn’t have it he’d panic and flounder; but convince him he had all the control and… well, he did something with that knowledge. He moved forward instead of getting stuck in place. It wasn’t perfect, and Kentworth wanted Shepard to feel more comfortable when he was out of his element, but for now it would do.

 “You’re right about things moving forward,” he said. “I get to go home in the next three days which will be good. I’ve spent enough of my life in hospital rooms—I’d rather be bored at home, surrounded by my things, than bored here with the smell of chlorine bleach and disinfectant.”

 “Any idea why you’ve been asked to stay so long at the hospital? I thought they said you’d be in for a week at the most.”

 Shepard blushed and ducked his head. “I kind of… tore out my stitches a few days after the surgery.”

 “How did you do that?” she asked, eyes going wide. _Honestly, John…_

 “I tried to get off the bed and into my wheelchair without help. Ended up falling on my ass and ripped out a good chunk of the stitches in the process. After that they didn’t trust me to know my limits,” he explained sheepishly.

 “John… patience—you need to have patience.”

 “I know, ma’am. I just… god, I want to have it all now. I look ahead and I see myself getting my leg and walking and running and doing everything I want to do _right now_ ,” he said, desperation in his voice.

 “And you will do all of those things, but it is going to take time. By overexerting yourself now you’re only slowing down the process.”

 Shepard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. Sitting back he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said, smiling while Shepard pouted.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both looking out the window, watching the sun set far too early for Kentworth’s liking. She hated the winter—it was always so dark and gloomy.

 Speaking of…

 “How was the sedation process?” she asked. Shepard had voiced his concerns about being put under for the surgery well before the operation took place. He’d been under anesthetic numerous times before, but he’d always panicked at the thought, a tiny voice in the back of his brain telling him he wasn’t going to wake up.

 “It was… alright,” he concluded, brows furrowed. Looking over at Kentworth he shrugged. “I didn’t like going under, but waking up was… it was alright.”

 “How so?”

 “Kaidan was there for a start. It’s easier to come to with someone holding your hand,” he mumbled, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “And Liara was also there.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “Your Asari companion?”

 He nodded. “Yeah—she heard I was going in and she made the trip over to come and see me. She said she was in the area but I knew it was bullshit. She worries about me—almost as much as Kaidan and Garrus. But waking up to see her standing next to Kaidan was… it was nice. I felt… I don’t know what I felt but it relaxed me; made me feel…” He shrugged.

 “It made you feel loved? Cared for? Like you had someone other than Kaidan looking out for you?”

 “Yeah… yeah, maybe. I know I have others out there who care about me, but to see Liara made it more…” He waved his hand about, obviously at a loss.

 “It made it more tangible?”

 “Exactly.”

 “It doesn’t appear to me that you’re lacking in people who care for you,” she said, turning around to look at the pile of gifts in the corner.

 Shepard chuckled. “Yeah—those started coming in after the surgery. I guess it slipped through to the media that I’d gone back to the hospital because people just started sending all this stuff in. It got so bad the nurses had to turn away the flowers and most of the balloons. We also had some people try and sneak in to see me.”

 “Hence the list of potential visitors?” she inquired.

 “You got grilled about that, eh?”

 She shrugged and crossed one leg over the other. “Very briefly. I feel honoured you put my name on the list.”

 “Kaidan did that,” Shepard said, then immediately seemed to regret it. “Not that I didn’t want you on the list, of course, I just… well, I forgot.”

 Kentworth laughed and patted Shepard’s arm gently. “No need to worry—I know I am low on the list of your priorities and that is as it should be.”

 “I don’t know if I like all of the attention,” Shepard continued, gaze flicking over to the pile.

 “I know that you withdrew from public life rather quickly after the Reaper War. I can’t say I blame you at all, but I do wonder why,” she said.

 Shepard sighed. “I never wanted the attention from those outside the Alliance. The public’s opinions never mattered much to me, in the end. Besides, it was… invasive, almost. People were acting like they knew me and trying to get involved in my personal life. I had this one fan who pretty much stalked me for a few years. He was harmless but… it was definitely not what I signed up for when I joined the Alliance. After the Alliance hailed me as a hero following the attack on the Citadel… it always felt wrong to me.”

 “How come?”

 “I’m a marine, ma’am—my job was to do what I did when I saved the council and the Citadel from Sovereign. I did what any marine would have done and I don’t think I deserve special treatment for that. Besides, there were others with me the entire time, but you never hear about them. Ash died for the cause but she’s barely a blip on anyone’s radar. Anderson’s only a household name within the Alliance and everyone else has forgotten about him. Legion gave up his life for his people and… and now Tali and I are the only ones who will remember that.”

 He looked down at his leg and reached out to gently touch the end, hands curling around the stub. “Besides, I’m not the man I used to be; physically or mentally. Everyone else still sees the tall, strong, vanguard in the N7 armour. All I am now is just a guy with a dog and a fiancé.”

 “So long as you remember these people, I think that is all that matters,” Kentworth said gently. “I don’t believe Ashley or Anderson did what they did for the fame and accolades. They were marines like you, John, and they did what they did for the very same reasons you did. So long as you remember them, honour them, and work on betting yourself, then their sacrifices will not be forgotten. They live on in you.”

 Shepard didn’t say anything, just sat in his chair and kept his hand still on his leg, eyes focused on the curl of his knuckles and the steady breathes through his nose. Eventually he looked up at Kentworth, jaw tight. “I got a card from Joker,” he said.

 “Your old pilot?” she asked.

 He nodded. Grabbing the wheels of his chair, he turned himself around with expert ease and rolled over to the desk covered in cards. Looking through the mess, he plucked one out from the corner and came back, holding it out to her.

 “May I read it?” Kentworth inquired, fingers poised inside the card to flip it open.

 “Go ahead,” he said, situating himself back at his old place.

 The cover was simple, red with gold writing on the cover wishing Shepard a quick recovery. Opening it up a photograph slipped out and landed on her lap. Picking it up she looked at the glossy image of the Normandy SR-2 as she sat at port back on Earth, her sleek, silver frame shining bright under the lights of the cityscape behind her.

 Reading the card, Kentworth couldn’t help but smile.

_‘Hey Shepard,_

_Heard about the leg. Tough break (no pun intended). But think of it as an upgrade—maybe now you won’t run so slow. Remember all those times you’d have to make a mad dash to the Normandy and arrived with only seconds to spare? Yeah—we could have had a lot less of those close calls. Just saying._

_Anyway, I ~~hope~~ know you’re going to be okay. Maybe we can catch up next time I’m in Vancouver. You should see the Normandy. She’s looking really great. _

_Joker – Best Damn Pilot in the Alliance – Moreau’_

 “He has a sense of humour,” Kentworth stated.

 Shepard snorted. “Yeah—he certainly does. One of our last conversations was about that… I should say one of our last _arguments_ was about that.”

 “What happened?”

 “We’d suffered a huge defeat at the hands of Cerberus and he made some crass fucking joke about Asari and exotic dancers. I… reacted badly.” He sighed and slouched further in his chair. “It was his way of coping but I didn’t have the patience for it at the time. We yelled, he revealed some stuff, I yelled again… it was a mess.”

 Kentworth frowned. “And this was the last conversation you had with him?”

 “Almost; I had a chance to apologize later on. Our last conversation was when I demanded an emergency evac for EDI and Kaidan… Joker swooped in to save my guy’s life, and I immediately proceeded to get his girl killed…”

 “John… you know that—”

 “I didn’t murder EDI—yeah, you’ve said that a million times,” he snapped back. “Maybe one day I’ll actually believe it.”

 Kentworth sat back in her chair and let Shepard pout. Tapping the card against the palm of her hand, she tried desperately not to turn this into an impromptu psychiatry session but found it difficult to keep her mouth shut. Shepard was looking glum and a bit self-pitying in his chair, and she didn’t want to leave him like that.

 “Are you going to meet with him?” she asked. “It sounds like he’d like to meet with you.”

 “No… maybe. I dunno.”

 “Why wouldn’t you? This sounds to me like the perfect opportunity to get some closure—for both of you.”

 “Because I know it will just make it worse,” Shepard said sharply. “He’s going to want to forgive me—that’s what he’s tried to tell me for months now. And I can’t hear that; I can’t accept his forgiveness.”

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “He’s been trying to forgive you?” She had the impression that Shepard feared speaking to Joker because he didn’t want to be blamed. She thought Joker had been the one accusing Shepard of murdering EDI. She didn’t know that Joker had been trying to make amends, and had been for some time now.

 “Yeah… and I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

_Well that was loaded._

 “Why don’t you think you deserve it?” she asked carefully, trying to keep her ‘professional’ tone out and keep it a conversation between two people, not a patient and his doctor.

 “Because I just don’t. I just—I killed her, alright? I killed Joker’s best friend and partner—the one person who made him feel like he was worth a damn. I ripped her from his arms and I knew exactly what I was doing when I did it. What kind of person deserves forgiveness for that?” he asked, voice slightly raised and panicked. “The worst part is, is that I helped them get together. I gave Joker advice and I told him to fuck regs and go for it—find that happiness. And then I do this! I sacrificed her and let her fucking die right next to Joker in the cockpit. He didn’t even know until they got back to Earth why she’d shut down. He spent months not knowing why EDI was dead; months not knowing that _I_ had… I had _killed_ her.”

Kentworth watched silently as Shepard’s first clenched on the armrest of his chair, knuckles going white as he tried to breathe evenly through his nose, using the techniques she’d been teaching him for the last eleven months. His voice broke with emotion, frustration and anger at himself evident in his tone. She didn’t say anything; didn’t aid nor make things worse in any way. Shepard had to bring himself back; he had to do this on his own.

_Just remember; you’re in control of your emotions…_

Eventually, very slowly, he let go of the chair’s armrests, his white knuckles going pink from the rush of blood. His breathing became less forced, and the tension in his jaw, shoulders and neck subsided. The panic-stricken look in his eyes remained but it was less severe, and she could tell he was once again present in the room with her, no longer trapped in his memories.

 It took seven minutes for the panic attack to subside with no intervention. That was progress.

 “In the end, John, I don’t think this is about what you want,” she said quietly.

Shepard didn’t look at her—didn’t make any indication he had heard her. She continued anyways. “This is what Joker feels he has to do, and honestly, I don’t think you should or can deny him that. He needs closure, John, just as you do. You can’t keep punishing yourself for this. You have to move on.” 

 Again, he was silent.

 “I think you’re turning yourself into a martyr because it’s easier to pretend you don’t deserve any forgiveness or kindness. You just told me that you don’t believe you deserve the admiration of those in the galaxy, and while I agree that you were just doing your job, I think you downplay your role and your service to the people of the galaxy. You saved millions upon millions of lives, directly or indirectly, and their appreciation for you, while overwhelming, is not heaped upon an underserving individual. You are deserving of their respect, John. Just as I feel you are deserving of Joker’s forgiveness,” Kentworth said, continuing despite Shepard’s attempts to pretend he wasn’t listening. “I think a part of you doesn’t want to be forgiven. I think a part of you takes satisfaction from playing the martyr.”

 “You’re saying I enjoy the pain?” he asked gruffly. He was still staring out the window.

 “No—what I am saying is: I don’t think you know how to live without it. Pain is something you feel you can deal with; it’s familiar to you, just as the physical pain in your leg had, for a time, become something familiar. Safe, almost. But you recognized how much your leg was harming you and you’ve removed it at great cost to your personal comfort. The same can be said for your emotions. Being happy has become a foreign concept for you—you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s this strange emotion that bubbles up in you and gives you hope. This scares you, and so you retreat back into something familiar, hoping that it will protect you.”

 Shepard was quiet for a time, brows furrowed, his bright blue eyes reflecting back at them through the glass of the window. Finally, “I don’t like feeling this way…”

 “Of course you don’t. And you don’t have to feel this way. You just need to be willing to leave your comfort zone in order to move forward. You said yourself during our last session that you need to keep moving forward, and that requires more than a commitment with Kaidan. Kaidan is just a piece of your life; not the entirety. Joker is also a piece, and I think you need to meet with him to get the closure you’re desperate for.”

 Shepard slowly stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hooded sweater and looked away from his reflection. The pained expression he wore was still there, but she saw understanding in his gaze—like he knew what she was saying was true, no matter how much it hurt to admit that.

 “I need to move on,” he said quietly. “I need to forgive myself. That’s what you’re saying?”

 “Yes, that is what I am saying.”

 He took a deep, steadying breath and looked over at Kentworth. “Easier said than done,” he said, smiling sadly.

 “No one said this was going to be easy, John. In fact, I think I said quite the opposite our first session.”

 “How long has it been?” he asked.

 “Almost a year.”

 Shepard pursed his lips and nodded, a slow, low whistle slipping past. “Almost a year… that’s a long time. How long do you normally work with a person for?”

 “Depends, honestly. I’ve had some patients last a few months. Others have stayed with me for years.”

 “I think I might be a lifer,” he admitted.

 “Oh I wouldn’t say that. You’ve made great strides, and you’ll continue to do so. Perhaps if you listened to me a little more…”

 She winked.

 “Hey now, I listen…” he said sheepishly.

 “Well then listen to this: Go speak with Joker. And finally agree to my group therapy suggestions—you need to start talking to others who can relate.”

 “Wanna hear something funny?” he asked, trying and failing to hide his laugh. “I’m being forced to attend some group sessions with fellow amputees next week; doctor’s orders.”

 “And how did they get you to agree to _that_?” Kentworth asked, utterly shocked and more than a little annoyed his medical doctor could get him to agree to something she’d been bothering him about for months.

 “They asked me when I was really high on morphine.”

 Kentworth laughed. “Well, that isn’t such a bad idea…”

 He shrugged and smiled. “Yeah, well… you did try and get me drunk on scotch last session. You should have asked me then.”

 “Well how about we make another deal, Mr. Shepard,” she suggested.

 “Alright… what is it?”

 “If you find these sessions at all useful in any manner, you’ll agree to sit in on at least one of my group therapy days. I ask only for you to try it. It’s strictly confidential, no one within the four walls of my office will know who you are, and no one will speak of what was discussed, seen, heard, or revealed.”

 Shepard sighed—long and insufferable—before nodded. “Alright—agreed.”

 They shook hands on it.

 “And you’ll also go and speak with Joker,” she added on.

 “Maybe.”

 “John.”

 “I said maybe, okay? Now are you going to show me how to do the double rib stitch with the new yarn you bought me or are you just going to harass me for the rest of the visit?” he teased.

 Kentworth grinned. “I think I can agree to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u guyz all rock


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard gets the rest he deserves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: super sorry about the delay on this! 
> 
> Second off: Enjoy!

 He lay in his room on the bed in the dark.

 His breathing was uneven, eyes wide, dread creeping along his spine. He felt like he was suffocating in the darkness.

 When had he become this afraid of the dark? Of nothingness? Of empty space? When had this all started?

 How did he become so out of fucking control?

 His knuckles hurt, a sore ache running down his fingers into the tips. His bad shoulder burned more than usual, Kaidan having grabbed him and forcefully pulled him back, slamming him hard on to the ground.

 He didn’t remember that happening; Kaidan told him about it later.

 All he remembered was being present one moment until he wasn’t—until he was on the ground, Kaidan forcing him to look at him while a reporter yelled in the background, hand cupping his nose as blood pooled crimson red on the white marble floor of the bank.

 ‘ _The_ great _Commander Shepard has lost it!_ ’ he had yelled.

 Shepard had. He’d fucking lost it.

 The door to the bedroom opened slowly, light pouring in to cast him in a yellow glow. He closed his eyes against the brightness and kept them closed as Kaidan flicked on the lights in the room, turning his tomb into an ordinary room.

 “You hate the dark, so why the hell are you lying in it?” Kaidan asked, irritation clear in his voice.

 “Dunno,” he replied, voice hoarse and shaky.

 He heard a sigh and felt the bed shift. Opening his eyes he looked at Kaidan as he sat hunched over, strong, capable hands running through his hair to rest at the back of his neck, applying pressure to the amp. He was getting a migraine…

 “Is he going to press charges?” Shepard asked quietly.

 Kaidan shook his head and sat a little straighter. Dropping his hands on to his lap, he turned to look at Shepard. “No… no, he’s not. I think some Alliance brass spoke to him and… I dunno, frightened him or appealed to his humanity. Who knows.”

 Shepard stared at Kaidan, taking him in—from the lines around his eyes and lips to the greying on his temples, the stress in his shoulders and the tension in his neck. _I put that all of that on him—I put all of that there. I made him look this way. I made him feel this way._

He avoided his gaze, not wanting to see what was in them. Anger? Pity?

  _Fear_?

Looking back at the ceiling he curled his fist in tighter, the skin breaking again, blood welling up on his knuckles. Swallowing a thick wad of spit he tried to even out his breathing but found he couldn’t, sharp, harsh intakes of breath all he’d been capable of for the last few hours.

  _How did things get so fucking bad?_

 “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

 “You don’t—” Kaidan began but was cut off by Shepard letting out a low, pained noise.

 Biting his bottom lip hard Shepard tried to hold back the tears. He would not cry—he could not cry. All he had fucking left was his dignity. But it just hurt so fucking bad. His chest felt like it was going to explode all over again—like he was suffocating in space, dying and alone and so fucking terrified. Clenching his jaw he tried to even out his breathing but couldn’t, everything just too much—it was just too fucking much.

 He could still see the red light; could still hear the low, dreaded scream of the Reapers; could taste husk blood in his mouth, and smell charred flesh and the thousands of mutilated corpses. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the memories; couldn’t distinguish reality from his past.

 He couldn’t escape himself.

 “I’m so fucked up, Kaidan,” he choked out. “I’m so _fucked_ up.”

 He felt Kaidan’s hand take his own. Warm, steady palms marred by wars relaxed his grip with ease, Shepard’s tight fist opening. Soft lips pressed against the rapid pulse point on his wrist, and it was that simple, deliberate, loving action that ripped everything down.

 All his walls; his fragile dignity; his preconceived notions of what it meant to be strong-- all of it, gone.

 A sob ripped itself free and Shepard was powerless to stop it. Hiding his face against Kaidan’s shoulder he broke down, painful sobs wracking his body as he cried and cried and cried.

“I’m so fucked up,” he kept repeating—again and again despite the gentle shushing against his ear and the tender kiss against his temple.

 He needed help; he just didn’t know how to ask for it.

XX

 Shepard sat across from Kentworth and prepared his tea with care—two cream, no sugar, and ever mindful of not letting the spoon touch the edge of the mug. He sat in his usual spot, back to the wall and legs spread casually, attention flicking up every so often to scan the room. His hands moved with care, steady and gentle, belying the speed and force at which he could pull a trigger, wrench an arm, or kill a man.

 This image could have been almost identical to their first official session when Shepard arrived, frightened and cagey, quick to lash out at the slightest of noises and perceived slights, his hands still rough and bruised from the violence he’d caused to end up in her office in the first place. His eyes had been haunted and sunken in, staring back at her, desperate for answers but unable to ask the questions—unable to open up and just ask for help. She remembered how he’d hid his limp, ashamed of his cane and his physical limitation. She remembered how he masked the pain behind a tense smile and a loud voice.

 Yes, it could have been a repeat of their very first session.

 But a lot had changed in two years.

 Instead of preparing his tea the way his partner had shown him, he prepared his tea the way his fiancé did, a simplicity about the entire affair that relaxed Shepard’s mind, his usual stern lips pulled into a small, soft smile. His hands were still rough and calloused but the reasons why were different; instead of from violence it was from creation, Shepard building and fixing things with his hands, craftsmanship replacing military prowess. His eyes were bright and alert, free from ghosts and past regrets, now only clouded occasionally—but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Not anymore.

 His cane had long since been abandoned and his limp was gone most days, his robotic prosthetic having given Shepard limitless opportunities. He went for jogs in the morning and runs in the late afternoon, learned to swim with one leg, and had taken up rock climbing at his local gym. He was active again, and unashamed about his limitations, instead showing the galaxy that he was an amputee—and proud of it.  

 He had colour to his cheeks, his skin bronze from the sun, and the hairs on his head that had always been shorn short were grown out, and Kentworth noted that his brown hair had flecks of premature grey that matched his fiancé’s.

 It wasn’t all perfect.

 He still slept poorly, the nightmares plaguing him most nights. But instead of giving up, he fought them by grounding himself using meditative techniques and a good old fashioned cuddles. His staunchness against partaking in group therapy sessions was still a critical point in his progress, but he no longer hid his struggles like he used to. He even agreed to do an interview for a human-interest magazine, and spoke freely of his therapy sessions and his struggles with PTSD.

 His triggers would always be with him, although he had learned how to manage them, and panic attacks would be infrequent but still a possibility. He would always struggle, but most days, those struggles were easily overcome.

 Shepard was no longer defined by his insecurities and past regrets; he was making a life for himself, and living it to the fullest. He was, in short, a new man.

 “The wall looks good,” Kentworth said.

 Shepard sat back with his tea and looked up and over at the wall. It had recently been plastered over, paint found to match her walls. It took almost two years, but Shepard had fixed it—just like he said he would.

 “Yeah—not too bad. Had to go to a few classes at the local hardware store, but I think it was worth it.” He grinned and looked back at Kentworth. “Soon I’ll be known around the galaxy for repairing drywall.”

 “Well, I’m glad that it gave you the chance to learn something new,” she replied.

 Shepard nodded and looked down at his tea. Sighing, he sat a little straighter and looked back up at Kentworth. “It was bothering me—seeing that hole. It kept reminding me of what set me off in the first place… kept reminding me of how I used to lose control—about how I can still lose control… thanks for letting me fix it.”

 Kentworth smiled. She’d left the hole despite the questioning glances by her other patients, and the gentle but insistent reminders from Helen that she had a brother who was a contractor and could repair it right away. Shepard had said he would fix it and so Kentworth had let him. He was a man of his word; she knew this.

 “So… two weeks until your big day,” Shepard said, taking a sip of his tea. His face contorted for a moment. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

 Kentworth chuckled and rolled her eyes. He was still impatient.

 “You’re referring to my semi-retirement?” she asked.

 Shepard nodded. “Bet your husband is excited.”

 “He realizes I still have patients to look after and a practice to run, but… yes. He’s excited. And so am I. I sometimes find myself agonizing over the decision, wondering what sort of people I will miss out on helping and perhaps some people who will desperately need my assistance, but in the end I think it’s time. I need a vacation.”

 “I think you’ve more than earned it,” Shepard said. “Can’t say I’m disappointed that you’re keeping a few of us on, though. Don’t know what I’d do without my monthly chat.”

 He smiled tightly. Kentworth knew that it both pained him but also brought him comfort to say that. Shepard didn’t want to continue admitting he had struggles that would require constant and careful vigilance, but she also knew that he’d fretted over the knowledge that she might not be there to help him when he needed it. Although he came less than he had a year ago, she knew his monthly session was what kept him moving forward.

 Many patients, when they lost the first therapist they had a real connection and understanding with, decided to stop seeking psychiatric help. Shepard, along with a few of her other patients, would do just that, she knew, and so she kept them on, making herself available for one or two sessions a month.

 Besides, she knew she wouldn’t be able to just stop, either. She’d been doing this for her entire adult life; you didn’t just stop trying to help others by listening to their struggles and psychoanalyzing every little detail of their words. She also liked Shepard. As much as she tried to keep her relationship with the man strictly patient/doctor, she couldn’t help but look forward to their conversations—even the ones that ended in holes in the wall.

 “I’m not the only one counting down the days to a big date,” Kentworth said, grinning behind her cup of tea.

 Shepard sighed loudly and flopped back against the couch. Resting his mug between his spread legs, he rolled his head to the side, a loud pop in his neck drifting her way. “Please don’t remind me.”

 She laughed. “You said it was going to be a small ceremony.”

 “A small ceremony, yeah, but we had to have a fucking massive reception,” he said. “It started out with Kaidan and I sitting down to write a list of people that had to attend—you know, friends and family. But as we wrote the list we realized that these friends and family come with guests. Alright—no problem, they can bring one guest. But then we got to the list of Alliance officials who needed to be there so Kaidan didn’t get shit at work. And then that leaked into having to invite dignitaries who we helped politically or saved the lives of. This turned into inviting some aliens, which turned into having to invite even more aliens so we didn’t cause any offense to another group or tribe or whatever.”

 He sighed again. “It’s been a fucking mess, ma’am. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

 “At least the end product will be worth it? Getting to spend the rest of your very long, worthwhile life with the person you love?” she asked, unable to hide her amusement. When he’d first started planning the wedding she remembered him saying ‘how hard could it be?’

 Apparently very hard.

 “You mean living the exact same life we did before, only this time with rings and some legal benefits?” He sat a little straighter and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just complaining because we’re neck deep in it right now. It’s two months away and we’re both feeling the pressure. We also made the fucking stupid decision to stop having sex a month before the wedding because we thought it’d make our wedding night that much more special. All it’s going to do is—” 

 He stopped and turned a delicate shade of pink.

 “The night might be over a little quickly, if you know what I mean,” he continued, still bright pink.

 Kentworth quirked a brow. “I must admit, John, I’m a bit surprised. I never thought you or Kaidan were the type to follow traditions.”

 “We aren’t. Usually, that is. But this wedding is kind of high profile. We figure that considering it’s already getting out of hand, why not just go all the way? Make it the event of the century… or the month—however long it’ll last in the press. Plus, a lot of our guests are aliens; they’re eager to see how humans do ‘bonding’ ceremonies.” He shrugged and took a deep drink.

 “Is this stress having an effect on you, personally?” she asked, a bit worried. Shepard needed to keep everything in his life as stable and constant as he possibly could. Stress led to a lot of damaging thoughts and behaviours for him, such as losing even more sleep and becoming hyper vigilant and aggressive once more.

 “No… no, I’m fine. I’m sleeping alright, still getting my exercise, attending my physio sessions—we’re all good. I’m… keeping myself in check,” he said carefully.

 “And your relationship with Kaidan?”

 “Is full of communication. Don’t worry, ma’am, I know that I’m stressed but I’m dealing. I’m just… I’m doing what I have to do. I might break our rule of ‘no sex’ to do so, but I’m good. Kaidan is good. Cosmo is good. We are all good in the Shepard-Alenko household.”

 “That’s good to hear,” she replied, genuinely pleased to hear it.

  _He truly is taking a firm hold of his mental and physical health. All I could ask for, really._

 “Regardless, the reception should be… entertaining. You’ll love it.” He winked.

 Kentworth had been invited early on along with her husband. She had readily agreed, eager to place faces to the names she’d been hearing about for the last two years. Had she known it was going to be such a grand affair…

 She’d still have said yes.

 “How does it feel knowing you’re going to be seeing some old friends?” she asked, deciding to focus on the wedding and all that it entailed—including reconnecting with those from his past. A past that, until very recently, had caused Shepard great pains to think about.

 “Really excited,” he said, and he broke out into a wide grin. He couldn’t fake that enthusiasm even if he tried. “It’ll be good to see the old Normandy crew. Everyone is coming—and I mean everyone. Even Tali is able to make it. Garrus is coming in a couple weeks before to spend time with me before everyone else gets here. We’re going to hang out, drink, catch-up, and avoid all talks of his work back on Palaven. It’s going to be really good.”

 “When was the last time you saw Garrus?” she asked.

 Shepard pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Dropping his head back down, he shrugged. “Last time I spoke to him was three days ago. But saw him? Maybe… fuck, I don’t know. Four years ago? He visited me before he left for Palaven. I was still in the hospital then so… yeah, it’d have to have been almost four years ago. Hell of a long time.”

 “And how does this make you feel? Seeing Garrus again?”

 “I feel… excited and anxious,” he decided. “I’m excited to see everyone. It was weird for a while, not being in the Normandy, surrounded by familiar faces. I kept thinking that they’d always be around in a way. Even when we were separated back during the old days, we’d find a way to meet up. Almost like the universe wanted us to get together… or something, I dunno. It just worked out every time. So when everyone left to go live their lives, a part of me thought ‘this isn’t goodbye—we’ll see each other in another year’. But then… things got in the way. They started to live their lives and I didn’t, they moved on and again, I didn’t. A year turned into two, then three, and now… now we’re here.”

 “Why do you think it took you so long to reconnect to some of your friends from the Normandy?”

 Shepard tapped his fingers alongside the edge of his mug, attention fixing on the caramel coloured tea at the top. “Some were obvious, I guess. Joker because he didn’t want to see me, and then I didn’t want to see him… James because he went into the N7 programme and dedicated his entire life to that—which you have to, if you want to make it. I didn’t see Samara for the longest time because I had no clue where she was. But some of the others… I dunno. Jack was always present, sometimes even working with Kaidan, but… I think I felt…”

 He trailed off and took a drink of his tea, buying himself time to think. Shifting, he stretched his bionic leg out under the table, soft whizzes of the mechanized joints breaking through the silence. Finally, he continued, attention back on Kentworth. “I think I felt ashamed. I still do, in a sense. I feel like they’ll see me in person and… I dunno. They’ll realize how much of a man I am—not their commander or their leader. Just a broken man who made the _wrong_ calls.”

 “You don’t honestly believe that, do you, John? You know how much your old crew adores you. Your meetings with Joker went well—you said so yourself. There was no blame on his side—no accusations thrown your way. In fact, you said that your prosthetic opened up a new link between you two. You were both able to connect on a level you’d previously been unable to,” Kentworth said, trying to sooth some of his fears. 

 Shepard had come along way, but he still stumbled. His ego was a fragile thing that he cherished greatly. It took a lot of convincing to get him to open up to the public about his struggles after the war, Shepard fearful that the galaxy would look at him differently. Some did, of course. Some saw him weak, others looked upon him with pity. But many related. The galaxy had been ravaged by war, everyone struggling with what they had seen, done, and heard. To know that their ‘saviour’—their hero—struggles just as they did actually helped.

 And it gave Shepard a confidence boost. He felt better about himself—proud once more. But he could stumble, just as he was doing now, and that was why Kentworth couldn’t fully retire.

 “Yeah, Joker was really great. We… yeah, we connected on a new level, just like you said. But not everyone is Joker.”

 “What about Wrex and Grunt? When you visited them they did nothing to make you uncomfortable about your disability, did they?”

 “No…” he said.

 “Miranda?”

 Shepard grunted. “That’s not fair—she rebuilt me. She knew how fucked up I was before.”

 Kentworth shrugged. “Alright—what about Liara, then?”

 “Liara… okay, yeah. Liara didn’t coddle me, either.”

 “So… what do you have to fear?” she asked. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees. “Your friends care for you a great deal, John. They are your family and they have proven this time and time again. They want the best for you; this is why they are traveling thousands upon thousands of kilometers to see you wed your partner. They care for you—you just need to remember that.”

Shepard nodded slowly. Turning, he looked out the windows, blue eyes locking on the horizon. The scaffolding that had marred the Vancouver skyline was slowly coming down, new and repaired buildings hiding the wounds the city had been inflicted during the Reaper War.

 But the scars were still there, displayed for the galaxy to see. Shepard wore his just as proudly.

 “You’re right,” he said, turning back to Kentworth. “They’re my family… a family I wouldn’t trade for the world.”

 Leaning forward he placed his mug down on a coaster on the table, and sat back, a sereneness in his expression as he looked across at her. The sun was high in the sky, casting Shepard in a warm glow. “You know… after I’d woken up in the hospital, after the Reapers had been defeated and Earth was saved… I regretted it. Not saving the galaxy or fighting the Reapers—not even making that final decision that I did—but I regretted joining the Alliance. I regretted making the choice to move on with my life; with getting off the streets in an attempt to better myself. I thought I should have just stayed some low-life street brat, with no prospects, no future—nothing. I thought if I hadn’t joined the Alliance I wouldn’t have been in the pain I was; I wouldn’t have been as fucked up as I was.

 “And I held on to that feeling for a really long time. A really fucking long time. I just… I dunno, I thought everything would have been better for everyone in the end. Someone else could have saved the galaxy—it didn’t have to be me. A part of me felt like I’d been punished for the choices I had made—like I didn’t deserve any of the accolades I’d been given in life and this was proof of it. The universe wanted me to suffer and had just, I dunno, delayed the punishment up until this point. I started to believe that all my pain? My misery? That I deserved it—that it was the only thing I deserved. If I hadn’t joined the Alliance, I wouldn’t have met Kaidan and I wouldn’t have dragged him down with me. I wouldn’t have destroyed the Geth. I wouldn’t have been there to tell Joker to love a woman only to take her away. I wouldn’t have been there to fuck _everything_ up.”

 He took a steadying breath. Closing his eyes, he evening his breathing out while Kentworth looked on, patient and understanding—Shepard’s rock when he needed on. Opening his eyes, the expression he wore was one Kentworth could only describe as hopeful, eyes bright and alive, a small smile on his full lips and an eagerness in the way he held himself.

 “But I don’t believe that anymore—any of it,” he continued. “Yeah, I’ve been through a lot and yeah, it fucking hurt. It still fucking hurts some days. But there was and still is a hell of a lot of good shit out there. I got to see the galaxy, ma’am. I got to see unimaginable beauty exploring the galaxy on the Normandy. I met amazing people and became their friends—their comrade in arms and their protector. I saved lives and changed lives, touched those around me in positive, _substantial_ ways. I witnessed the rebirth of the Quarian civilization and the Krogans, aided brilliant minds in making the galaxy a better place. And I met the most beautiful soul who, for whatever reasons, loves me unconditionally. Kaidan is the most pure, incredible person I have ever met, and if I hadn’t joined the Alliance I’d probably had never have met him.

 “I know I didn’t always do right, and I didn’t always do it kindly… sometimes my methods were messy and sometimes they were painful, but I got the job done, and I saved more lives than I took and changed more lives for the better. If I hadn’t joined the Alliance I wouldn’t be the man I am today, and I can finally say, with all honesty, that the man I am today is a man I am proud of; a man, I am happy to say, I worked hard to become. A man who is worthy of love and of respect… a man who is about to get married, move on with his life, and _live_ his life—live that second change he was gifted, not cursed with. But gifted.”

 He cleared his throat, voice tight with emotion by the end of it. Sighing, Shepard looked down at his hands, strong and powerful, marred with spider-web patterned scars and freckles. He took a moment, collecting his thoughts, before he spoke once more, voice soft. “I used to think I was the unluckiest fucker in the galaxy. Now… now I know I’m the luckiest.” 

Old soldiers never let go of the men that died or the battles they lost. Every loss, every heartbreak, every bad mistake and missed opportunity etched itself on the heart of a soldier, their weary bodies carrying the weight of a world that used the hope for peace as a means to perpetuate war. A soldier never forgets how to be a soldier—never lets go of what they experienced. It sits on them like a heavy crown and a ragged cloak, wearing them down until nothing is left but what the world wants to see—a hero or a monster, a frightened boy or a resilient man, the solution or the problem, a son, father, husband and lover, or a killer and a thief. Those who praise and those who vilify both sit in the same camp of never understanding the true cost.

 War and conflict made children into adults, adults into the disillusioned and broken, and soldiers into cracked and crumbling statues long forgotten as they stood vigil over the memorials of the fallen.

 Kentworth and Shepard both knew every day would be a struggle, every memory would have a melancholy twinge, and every action would have a phantom regret and second thought accompany it. But they also both knew that every day was worth living, every memory was worth having, and that every action was one step closer to recovery, to peace of mind, and to that happy, stable future Shepard was deserving of.

Shepard knew this, he believed it, and he embraced it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is an epilogue coming, I think this is the appropriate time to say all my thank yous. Thank you to my buddy Bree, who read through my first drafts and gave me constructive, but ultimately supportive, criticism, and who pushed me to write this story even when I thought no one would read it. Thank you to Alison for doing much needed beta-work on the first 13 chapters, and thank you to potionmaster for doing this latest chapter for me. And finally, thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, left kudos, and generally supported this story. 
> 
> I wanted to tell the story of what it really means to be a soldier and a warrior-- the ugly, cold truth, without all the glamour we're accustomed to in our media. I wanted this to be true to what men and women have gone through and will continue to go through, and be as respectful and as meaningful as possible in the process. Remember that Shepard's story, although having taken place in the fanciful future with larger than life monsters, is not an uncommon one. Those with PTSD whether through combat or other traumas deserve respite, respect, and understanding, and we can only hope that with each barrier broken down, more and more people will get the help the need and deserve.
> 
> Thank you!


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